Not Quite Counting Sheep
by Dunyazade
Summary: Bruce and Clark in bed again... and the aftermath. NOT slash.
1. Not what it looks like

_Author's note/disclaimer: They're not mine and they're not gay. But the thought of them sharing sheets is just irresistible. Little bit of Clark/Lois here as well as Bruce/Diana. _

* * *

Not Quite Counting Sheep

Chapter One: Not what it looks like

Perry White had a couch in his office at the Daily Planet.

Occasionally Clark would come to work an hour early and catch the old newspaper man sleeping there, and for some reason the sight of his hard-working boss oblivious to the world always made him smile.

Superman rarely slept on the Watchtower, but when he did, he always thought of Perry on his couch, shoes still on, sleeping like a baby.

It was a home away from home. Sleep was something that Clark could handle, after all, in his apartment in Metropolis. But every once in a while, when Clark had trouble just being _Clark_, and couldn't sleep, Superman would spend the night on the tower. It was easier, from there, to let the roar of the earth subside into a background hum.

Tonight, Clark was tired. It had rained all week in Metropolis and Lois had been mean to him. Next week would be better, he was sure, but tonight all he wanted was to just get away from it all and have a good night's rest.

So that was why he was here, in blue pajamas in his watchtower dorm room, under the covers and trying to sleep.

Unfortunately, no matter how well he was able to tune out the cacophony of humanity, there were some voices that he could never completely ignore—and tonight, one of those voices was unnervingly close by.

In fact, it was right down the hall, and it was keeping Clark awake.

* * *

Batman slept on the Watchtower even less often than Superman. But of course, Batman barely slept at all, unless you counted his frequent endurance of villain-induced unconsciousness.

And everybody knew that Bruce and sleep had been enemies for decades, especially people with super-hearing, and people in whom Alfred confided—but there really wasn't anything anyone could do about it. On the odd occasion that Clark happened to be trying to sleep in Metropolis at the same time of day or night that Bruce was passed out from exhaustion in Gotham City, Clark usually got away with just putting his arm over his ear to block out the sound. But tonight, that wasn't working. Bruce was just too close; there was no way for Clark to _not_ hear him.

For the most part, it was just unintelligible mutterings. But at irregular intervals his muffled voice would turn into a distressed whine, and words would slip out, sometimes whole sentences: apologies, pleas, panicked exclamations. In a strangled whisper that gave Clark goose bumps, he would beg the Joker not to do it.

"Darn it, Bruce, you had to pick _tonight_ to come up here to catch your Zs," Clark muttered, and started considering his options. He didn't want to go back to his apartment. He'd been lonely all week, with Lois's harsh sarcasm and the overcast, low-ceilinged skies to deal with, constantly wearing him down. He thought about going home to Kansas, but dismissed the idea. His mother always knew when he was feeling a tad depressed, and would worry about him for weeks afterwards.

Clark put his pillow over his head, clamped it in place with his arm, but it didn't help. He could still hear Bruce mumbling and thrashing and suffering through the seventh circle of his dreams.

_Nothing I can do about it_, Clark told himself. _It's just a natural reaction to the world he lives in. He's fine._

"_Help_," Bruce blurted out. "_Please…nnggg…please…_"

Clark rolled onto his back, looked up at the ceiling, laid still for a minute.

"…_help me_," Bruce repeated, his voice barely a whine in the back of his throat, the words escaping from his nightmare and clicking on Clark's heart.

That settled it. Clark threw the covers back, put his feet into his slippers.

* * *

A tentative knock. He cleared his throat.

"Bruce? It's me."

He waited a second, listening but not looking through the door. There was no indication that Bruce had heard him, so he knocked again, a little harder. Still no response.

Squinting a little, he peered into the room. Somehow, the darkness within seemed a violet, almost _red _sort of darkness, not a tranquil moony _blue_ sort of darkness like in his own room. Bruce had covered his window to keep out the starlight; that was probably why.

"Wake up, Bruce," Clark said, a little louder. "I want to talk to you. Open the door." He knocked a third time, and that did the trick. Bruce jackknifed into a sitting position, gasped as if he'd been underwater, and then recognized his surroundings, realized what had jolted him awake, and glared at the door he somehow _knew _that Clark was looking through.

Duly chastised, Clark let the door return to full opacity in his vision. He could still hear Bruce's heartbeat, his controlled breathing. Heard it as he lay back down and rolled over, pulling the blankets up. "Come on, Bruce, I know you're awake now. Let me in."

A growl. "_Go. Away._"

Clark frowned, and turned his attention to the little key pad that opened the door. It was locked, of course, and electrically shielded. One careful punch and a short blast of heat vision later, the door slid back.

"I was trying to sleep," Clark said apologetically, stepping into the darkness and pulling a little of the cool white glow of the hallway in behind him. "But, I couldn't."

Bruce was just self-conscious enough to figure it out right away. "Go sleep in your Fortress," he muttered, hunched into his pillows and not looking at his visitor. "That should be far enough…"

Clark sighed, made his way to the nightstand, and turned on the little lamp there.

"What are you _doing?_" Bruce snarled at him, recoiling from the light.

"When I was little and had bad dreams, Ma always let me sleep with the light on," Clark confided.

"Clark, I'm _forty_ years old," Bruce grumbled. "And I don't need _help_ with this." He reached out and switched the lamp back off.

Clark stood there in the dark for a moment. "Well, that's funny," he said as gently as possible. "…because it was you _calling_ for help that brought me over here."

He switched the light on again, just in time to see Bruce's shadow grow huge on the wall as Bruce leapt at him, fist already drawn back.

"What the-- _Mmph_." The first blow connected; he dodged the second and third. "Just _talk_ to me," Clark demanded, stepping backwards, hands up in defense against the full-fledged attack. He honestly hadn't imagined it would turn into a fistfight. Obviously Bruce needed his help more than he'd thought.

"Uhg!" Bruce grunted, and swept Clark's feet, knocking him to the floor.

Clark had been backing towards the open door, and when he landed flat on his back, his head and shoulders were out in the hall.

Bruce came down on top of him, forcefully enough to kill a regular human, and established a cross-grip on the collar of Clark's pajamas, executing a vicious jujime choke.

That's when Clark noticed a pair of shiny blue boots out of the corner of his eye. He looked up, and Bruce followed his gaze, and suddenly they were both looking at the slack-jawed face of Booster Gold, who had been on his way down the hall in pursuit of a midnight snack and was now staring back at them in shock.

Clark attempted a smile. Bruce just glared.

Booster Gold swallowed nervously. "Um, ok… Definitely _not _asking," he said.

Gritting his teeth, Bruce got up and hauled Clark up by the collar, shoving him back into the room. Then he spun to Booster, who gulped.

"_Not_ what it looks like," Bruce growled threateningly, before ducking back into his room and slamming the door.

As soon as the door was shut, Bruce leaned against it.

"Dizzy?" Clark asked, concerned.

"Just need sleep," Bruce rasped.

Clark crossed his arms over his chest. "Good thing Booster distracted you just now. Otherwise, I might've started to believe that you were trying to kill me."

Bruce staggered across the room, crawled onto the bed and laid down. "Can't kill you. Invulnerable—moron."

"I'm worried about you."

Bruce's eyes were closed. "Leave me alone, Clark," he muttered.

"No." Clark sat down on the other side of the bed, closest to the nightstand with the lamp on it. "You need to sleep, but I won't leave you _alone_. I'm staying. Right here. And I'm keeping this light on for you whether you want it or not." He waited a minute, braced for an argument, but none came. Then he heard it: Bruce's breathing.

He was fast asleep.

* * *

Eight hours later, Bruce woke up feeling wonderful. The lamp on the nightstand was still on. Clark was still there too. Sometime during the night, he'd fallen asleep and made his way under the covers, and was now peacefully asleep on his side, balanced on the very edge of the bed as if determined to take up as little space as possible. Considerate, even asleep.

Slowly, Bruce sat up. Stood up. Stretched. Pondered the events of the previous night. Was is _possible_ that keeping the light on had helped him sleep so well? Seemed absolutely ridiculous. Clark's presence—well, yes, he had to admit that had helped. Bruce _did_ sleep better when he wasn't alone. One of the reasons he'd come up to the Watchtower was actually because he didn't want Alfred to lose too much sleep over him this time.

He glanced at Clark again; realized that he was grateful for what his friend had done for him. He'd _needed_ that sleep, and somehow, just by being there and turning on a stupid lamp, Clark had made it possible.

Of course, it could've just been the no-holds-barred _fight_, the abrupt exercise and surge of adrenaline just before he crashed, that finally pacified his troubled psyche and allowed his sleep to be nightmare-free. Something along the lines of taking out all his anger and aggression on Clark all at once, so there was nothing left to seep through and stain his dreams with violence and hatred. Yes, maybe that was it.

He'd have to thank Clark later.

Intending to let Clark sleep for as long as he wanted, Bruce ducked into the adjoining bathroom to take a shower.

* * *

Wonder Woman was making her way down the hall, en route to one of the training classrooms. She smiled as she remembered that she had seen the Batplane in the hangar last night, and it was still there this morning, without any takeoffs recorded, meaning Bruce had probably spent the night in his seldom-used dorm room, which, as she recalled, was just a few doors down…

As she looked for the door, she immediately noticed the ruined key pad beside it. Her eyes narrowed. Had Bruce's room been broken into? Was Bruce all right? She bit her lip, studying the door. She decided against kicking it down—Bruce might have been tied up and helpless on the other side of it!

These days, her imagination often ran to the possibility of Bruce being tied up and helpless.

But there was no time to dwell on that now—she had to get into that room, to make sure he was ok.

Delicately, she punched two holes through the metal door and pried it right out of the wall, setting it carefully off to the side in the hallway.

"Bruce?" she asked, stepping into the room. It looked like he was still asleep, his big body right on the edge of the mattress.

She knew he often had trouble sleeping, and decided against waking him. And she probably wouldn't even have noticed that the shower was on in the little bathroom, except for the fact that it turned _off _at that very moment.

Diana froze, and then assumed a fighting stance facing the bathroom door, ready for anything. She heard someone slide open the shower. Heard the towel bar rattle as someone pulled a towel off of it.

A rustle behind her and then-- "Diana?" a sleepy voice, a friendly voice. She whirled, a chill going down her spine as realized that the man in the bed _wasn't_ Bruce.

Instead, sitting there with a good-morning smile and blue pajamas, was:

"_Superman?_" Confusion, then, and immediately, relief. She abandoned her stance, relaxing. "Oh! Thank Hera. I'm sorry—I thought this was—"

The bathroom door opened then, and Diana turned to look, and was momentarily stunned by the sight of Bruce, wet, towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was spikier than usual because it too was wet, and dripping down his neck.

"Bruce?" she asked, feeling inexplicably…excited.

Bruce's mouth fell open a little bit. Then, slowly, as if he was afraid to look, his eyes moved over to the bed.

Clark, mid-yawn, was stretching one of his arms behind his head.

Diana followed Bruce's eyes, looked at Clark, and looked back at Bruce in confusion. Then suddenly her eyes went wide. She looked back and forth between the two of them again, her face swiftly turning scarlet.

"_It's_ not _what it looks like_," Bruce insisted, a bit urgently.

Diana barely seemed to hear him. "Hera, give me strength--"

"What's wrong?" Clark asked, concerned by the wavering of Diana's normally steady voice. But it was too late—Wonder Woman had already flown out of the room and down the hall, fighting back tears.

Suddenly, Clark got it. His face turned as red as hers had. "She doesn't think—"

"Of course that's what she thinks," Bruce snapped, his voice rough. "Now get out!"

* * *

Clark left, made his way back to his own room, feeling depressed. The entire Watchtower, it seemed, was abuzz with the rumor already, compliments of Booster Gold. Seems that 'not asking' hadn't correlated with 'not telling' in his case. Clark was disappointed. He'd thought that Booster was more responsible, more mature than that. But it was too late now.

Eventually, the hysteria would die down, Bruce would take Diana out to dinner and explain. It was a big mess, sure, but they'd faced worse. And at least they'd both gotten a good night's sleep. That was what was important.

He noticed a message on his cell phone when he got back to his room.

Lois.

_Hey Clark. Sorry I was nasty to you this week. You've really been there for me lately, and… we should talk. The weather's finally supposed to be nice tomorrow, and I just got a new bike, so I was thinking… maybe we could go biking? And lunch. At the waterfront—my treat. So… give me a call. See you later. _

Clark smiled, turned on the television. There it was, on the weather channel:

Sunny skies in Metropolis.

He called her back.

to be continued!

* * *

_A/N: Just couldn't leave this story with Clark feeling sad. I love him too much.  
_

_Question: Can the Batplane fly up to the Watchtower? I feel like I saw it in one of the Watchtower's hangars in one episode but I might be imagining it._


	2. We have a problem

_Author's note/disclaimer: alright alright, you asked for it, you got it: this is now a chapter story. hee hee hee... Hope you enjoy it. This chapter draws heavily from Superman: the animated series and especially from the "World's Finest" episodes where Supes meets Bats. If you haven't watched that recently... you really should. It's BRILLIANT!!_

* * *

Chapter Two: We have a problem

"You know, that bike helmet looks cute on you."

Clark grinned, taking the absurd compliment in stride. "Thanks."

Lois cocked an eyebrow at him, but not in her usual half-haughty manner. "Red," she remarked, taking off her own helmet. "Matches your bike. And your car, now that I think about it. Favorite color?"

"I like red," Clark said noncommittally, unbuckling his helmet and lifting it from his head. "And blue." He felt a breeze on the back of his neck, felt it play with his hair.

A small smile flickered across Lois's face, one that he'd never seen there before. That's when he knew for sure that something was different between them. His heart soared with hope—that look in her eyes, it was wistful, _adoring_—and then she was reaching towards his face, and in the instant that he realized that his ridiculous spit-curl had fallen onto his forehead, she was already smoothing it back.

Clark forgot to breathe. She was looking into his eyes. "I like red and blue too," she said.

Clark's mouth fell open a little. Had she seen through his disguise at last? Did she _know?_ Thankfully she looked away before his brain could read too much into things. His stomach fluttered a little. He'd been getting a weird vibe from Lois all morning. She'd been so warm towards him, so open. Compliments instead of insults. Sincere smiles. They'd just gone on an hour-long bike ride together along the waterfront, and in truth it had been the most enjoyable "date" that Clark had ever shared with her.

Previously when they'd gone out together, she'd always been… _guarded_. Holding back. Defensive, cynical—always maintaining a certain emotional distance from him, keeping him at arm's length with a roll of her eyes or a strategically interjected put-down.

Now, as they were settling themselves on the grass for a picnic lunch in the park, Clark couldn't help but wonder if maybe the gap between them was finally closing. And the more he thought about it, the more he believed it.

"Such a beautiful day," Lois sighed, setting down her half-eaten sandwich.

"Yes it is," Clark agreed.

Lois tipped her head to one side and looked at him funny. "You okay, Clark?" she asked.

"I feel great." His grin was heartfelt. He was practically glowing. "I love being able to spend time with you like this, Lois. Away from work, I mean."

Lois looked down. She made a little snorting sound. "God, I've been such an idiot," she muttered.

The barest hint of confusion crossed his expression, followed by concern. "…Lois?"

She took a deep breath, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes and all of Clark's senses went on hyper-alert. "Clark, I owe you an apology," she said in a rush. "You've always been there for me, always been so kind to me. I mean, I know you're kind to everybody but for me, you just, you've done so much, and I haven't done anything to deserve it! I've ignored you, deliberately--" she wiped her eyes and went on "—tried to discredit you. I knew that it was wrong of me, that I should have been grateful, that I should have been receptive, but I was just too proud and stubborn to see what my heart was telling me."

She took another deep breath. Clark just stared at her, frozen in place, as if he wasn't sure whether or not it was really happening. She searched his eyes. "Now I know, Clark, that I've loved _you _all along."

He couldn't believe it. No—he _could_ believe it. In fact, he'd never believed anything quite so completely. She knew. She _had_ to know. Finally, the charade was over. Lois wiped her eyes, smiled at him, genuine, relieved, the very picture of someone who'd finally gotten a burden off their chest. "Of course you know better than anyone what the _problem's_ been all these years," she said, a little of her cynical tone resurfacing at last.

Clark's smile was every bit as brilliant and liberated as her own. "Yeah, I think I do," he said.

Lois rolled her eyes. "_Superman_." There was a bit of an edge to her voice. "I can't _believe_ I didn't see it."

"Are you mad?" Clark asked right away.

"No, not really. I mean, I understand why Superman couldn't just tell me. And now it all makes sense. I just can't believe I didn't _guess!_ It's so obvious!"

"Well, don't feel too bad," Clark said good-naturedly. "I don't think anybody else ever figured it out either. And you're sure you don't feel… deceived?"

Lois shrugged. "Well, maybe a little," she confessed. "Once or twice, you know, he really got my hopes up. Regardless, it was stupid of me to fantasize about _him_ and look right past _you_. Honestly, I'm glad it turned out this way. Now that Superman's officially out of the picture, I can finally see what's been right in front of my nose all along."

She reached over and took his hand, squeezed it a bit. And suddenly Clark felt that something wasn't right, and was doing his best to fight off the little warning in the back of his mind…

…but he always lost that kind of fight.

"Wait a minute, Lois," he said, his brow furrowing. "…why is Superman out of the picture, exactly?"

She gave him a blank look. "You're kidding," she said. "You didn't get that e-mail?"

"What e-mail?"

"You know, from our _source_ in the Justice League?"

"Our _source?_" Clark asked, suddenly feeling a little bit ill.

"I got the story last night, about an hour before I called you. Most intense hour of soul-searching I've ever endured, by the way."

"What story, Lois?"

She looked at him for a minute, trying to figure out if he was, in fact, unaware of the situation or if he just wanted to hear her say it. She sighed.

"Superman's gay," she informed him. "With Batman."

Clark had been leaning back, supporting himself with one hand on the ground, and suddenly his arm twitched and the ground under his palm compacted, resulting in a four-inch deep handprint-shaped crater. Fortunately, the grass was long enough to mostly conceal it.

"That's crazy!" Clark exclaimed.

"I know," Lois said right away. "That's what I said too. But, when you think about it…"

"No," Clark said firmly. "You can't actually believe that."

"Oh? And why can't I? I'm the closest thing Superman's had to a girlfriend and let me tell you, there was not a lot going on there."

"Maybe he was concerned for your safety!" Clark protested. She quirked an eyebrow and Clark frowned, tracking her thoughts. "Not that _he'd_ hurt you, of course, but what if anyone found out how much you meant to him? You'd be a target, worse than you already are! Imagine if they found out that he loves you!"

"Loves?" Lois laughed. "If there's one thing I know about Superman, it's that he _loves_ me only because he _loves _the whole goddamn human race."

His hand trembled under hers and she squeezed it again. "You're taking this pretty hard, Clark—I would have thought you'd be happy about it, considering that Superman was pretty much your only competition for me."

Clark ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. "Lois, how to explain this… I…" his face turned pink. "You don't understand!"

Lois blinked a few times. "Hey, calm down," she said disapprovingly. "I never pegged you for a homophobe. Being gay doesn't make him any less of a hero."

"I'm not a homophobe. I just can't believe that you're buying this unsubstantiated rumor. I mean, it's ridiculous! And with _Batman?_ Come on, Lois, didn't you _meet_ that guy when he was in Metropolis a while back?"

Lois narrowed her eyes. "I did. We had a nice little adventure. But I think _Batman_ was only interested in me because of my connection to Superman." She sighed, and Clark's heart ached for her at the pain suppressed in the sound. "In fact, when I first met _the Batman_, he had so many questions about Superman that I jokingly asked him if he'd like me to set the two of them up on a date."

She smiled, wry and world-weary. "Seems now I was right on the mark. If he hadn't had appearances to maintain, he probably would've said yes. As it turned out, he used me to keep up his reputation. And to think, I liked him enough to keep a secret for him all these years! I never told a soul, but… remember who I was dating, around that time?"

Clark nodded. "Bruce Wayne." He had to admit, it felt good to have Lois entrust him with such a powerful secret, even though it was a secret he already knew.

"Well, there you go," Lois said. "But promise me you won't tell anyone else."

He took a deep breath. "I promise," he said.

She searched his face, suspicious. "Clark. I just told you Batman's secret identity and…you don't seem surprised."

"There's a good reason for that."

"You already knew?! But how?"

"Someday, you'll understand." He looked up, focusing his eyes on the watchtower far above in its orbit, and prayed that 'someday' would come soon.

* * *

The door to Batman's dorm room had been repaired. And the keypad, Clark couldn't help but notice, had been upgraded to include a sparkly magenta force-field that he was fairly certain would deflect laser-vision.

He cleared his throat and knocked. "Bruce? We need to talk."

Clark had no trouble hearing Bruce's growled demand through the door. "_Leave me alone!_"

"You know I can't. We have a problem."

The door slid back. Batman's shoulders were hunched, his teeth clenched. He took one menacing step forward and was suddenly nose-to-nose with Superman, glaring into his eyes. "_No_," he said, in the deepest, most-pissed-off Batman voice ever, "_We _don't have a _problem_, Clark. _I _have a problem. I have a _goddess_ who wants to _kill_ me." Not waiting for a reply, Bruce spun away and stalked back into his room. Frowning, Clark followed him in and closed the door behind himself.

"I'm sure she doesn't really want to _kill_ you," Clark said.

"She quit the League."

"_What?_"

"We had a fight."

Clark blinked, realizing just how serious this was. "And you _won?_"

Bruce sat down on the edge of his bed, pulled off his cowl. Both sides of his face sported ugly, swollen bruises. He didn't look at Clark. "I wish I hadn't."

"I don't believe this."

"It was an accident."

"You _won_."

"Clark, I didn't want to. She—I make mistakes around her. _Because_ of her. I can't deny it anymore. Diana's my Kryptonite."

Clark crossed his arms, unconvinced. "And your 'Kryptonite' just _quit_ the League?"

"And swore revenge."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. Bruce just sounded so depressed! "There's no way that she means it, Bruce. She's just upset. She'll come back."

"And she'll bring her _sword _when she does. Said so herself."

Clark shook his head. "This is ridiculous. After all the threats we've faced, to think that a mere _rumor_ would cause this much _trouble_."

Bruce put his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers, and rested his chin on his thumbs. For a moment he was silent. Then, a low rumble: "What are we going to do?"

Clark was taken aback. "You're asking _me?_"

"I can't _think_," Bruce said, repressed panic in his voice. "I don't have a plan for this. I've never had to _care_ before about what people thought. In fact, there's always been an advantage to having criminals think I was gay."

"_What?_"

Bruce still wasn't looking at him. "Some who don't fear pain still fear humiliation," he mumbled. "By now most of them know I won't kill them. But they _don't_ know if there's anything _else_ I won't do."

Clark couldn't believe he was hearing this. "Are you saying you've threatened people with sexual assault? Don't you think that's crossing the line?"

"I have to keep them guessing. Have to keep them scared. You tell me what's worse, Clark: breaking their legs, or bending them over the hood of a car and whispering in their ear?"

Disgust filled Clark's face. "That's _dark_, Bruce, even for you. I don't like it."

"You're not supposed to like it," Bruce grunted. "You're _Superman_."

A couple of seconds ticked by in silence, until finally Clark sighed. "I had lunch with Lois today. She's heard the news."

Bruce didn't look up. His voice was cold. "Let me guess. Suddenly she realizes what a good catch Clark Kent is."

"She actually believes that Superman and Batman are gay."

"Of course she does."

Clark tried to quell the flicker of offense that he felt at Bruce's dismissive tone. "She thinks," he continued, every word deliberate, "that during the time you spent in Metropolis, you were just_ using _her to maintain your reputation."

Bruce was quiet for a minute. This was dangerous ground. "What do _you_ think?" he asked at last.

"Don't play that game," Clark snarled, hands forming fists. "Tell me the truth."

"You already know it," Bruce replied, raising his voice. "Lois is smart and beautiful and I was attracted to her. And she was lonely and needed something that you wouldn't give her. I meant it when I said I wanted her to come to Gotham with me. But I knew it wouldn't last. Even if she had accepted my offer, eventually she would've gotten fed up and she would've gone back to you. Because she isn't mine, Clark, she's yours."

Clark calmed down, let the words sink in.

And then he had an idea.

"I'll talk to Diana for you," he offered quietly, "if you'll talk to Lois."

Bruce looked at him, surprised. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Good plan," he muttered. "But I won't tell her your secret, if that's what you're hoping for."

"She told me yours," Clark replied, grinning.

"Good for her." Bruce stood up, pulled his cowl down over his head.

"So what will we do about the rest of the world?" Clark asked.

"The tabloids devoured it but it won't make the papers. Booster Gold has already s_incerely _apologized and explained to the press that it was just a prank."

Clark crossed his arms over his chest, gave Bruce a knowing look. "So you _do_ care what people think about us."

"Not _us_," Bruce growled. He hesitated for a minute, then grit his teeth. "…y_ou_."

Clark blinked. It wasn't often that Batman actually warmed his heart. Bruce was moving towards the door.

"You're not going to let me hug you for that, are you?" Clark asked.

Bruce looked over his shoulder at him and actually gave him a smug little smile. "No," he said, and stepped out of the room.

to be continued!

* * *

_Author's note: for the record, I LOVE the idea of Lois having had a fling with Bruce. Think about it-- he's her future husband's best friend!! It's an endless source of drama. They definitely had a romance, but I go back and forth on whether or not I think they actually slept together. I left it ambiguous in the story, as it is in the cartoon-- they very well might have, but then again, maybe they didn't. What do you think? _

_I have just a few more little things to fix in the third chapter... I'll post it as soon as I can!_


	3. Hopeless romantic

_Author's note/disclaimer: In the "Trinity" comic books, Diana recently admitted to having been romantically attracted to both Bruce AND Clark. That's the only reason I was able to write this chapter the way I did! _

_This is set sometime after Wonder Woman has been banished from Themyscira._

* * *

Chapter Three: Hopeless romantic

Her voice struck out at him as soon as his red boots touched the white marble. "Men aren't allowed here."

Clark put his fists on his hips. "Neither are you."

"This temple is abandoned," Diana replied. Her voice shrank. "My mother doesn't know I'm here."

* * *

It was morning off the coast of Greece, but the middle of the night in Metropolis.

Batman landed silently on the balcony. Effortlessly slid through the unlocked door, made his way to her bedroom. She was asleep, her dark hair beautifully sprawled across the pale pillowcase. One slender arm, outside the covers, curled to her chest. He stood back, let his cape fall closed in front of his shoulders, turning himself into a limbless black shape.

"Lois…"

* * *

Diana was in full warrior mode; broadsword and billowing cobalt cloak added to her usual costume. She was standing with her feet apart, facing a dilapidated statue of Hera in the main chamber of the temple.

Clark's forehead creased at the sight of her rigid shoulders, her bowed head. "Are you all right?"

"Don't come any closer," she warned, not moving. "I am preparing for battle."

Clark sighed. "Diana, you're overreacting."

"I've been a fool," she said, almost to herself.

Clark wasn't sure how to respond. His eyes wandered around the temple, and were drawn to the crumbling face of the statue. The goddess Hera looked angry, he realized. Angry and sad.

It had been a long time since he'd studied up on Greek mythology, but he seemed to remember that Hera was a jealous goddess, always plotting revenge for her husband's unfaithful escapades. The more he recalled about the goddess's character, the more ferocious and grief-stricken her marbled countenance appeared.

Fleetingly, Clark recalled that '_hell hath no fury like a woman spurned'_, and he wished that Diana had picked some other Olympian deity to call on for strength and aid.

He swallowed. "Did Bruce at least tell you what really happened? Between me and him, I mean?"

"No excuse could be good enough, so don't even try."

Clark's face flushed a bit. "He had a bad dream. Alfred usually sits up with him but Alfred wasn't on the Watchtower and I was. That's all."

In the cold silence that followed, Clark could almost _hear_ her emotions swelling.

"Man's world has corrupted me," she muttered at last.

"Diana, no--" Clark took a step towards her, and in a blink her sword was against his throat. With a violinist's precision, she drew the blade across his adam's apple, leaving the smallest red line—no worse than a paper cut, really, but it served as a vivid reminder that even the man of steel was vulnerable to weapons forged by the gods.

Clark touched his throat, frowned at the thin smear of blood on his fingers. "I said, _don't come any closer_," Diana hissed. "While you are here, you _will _obey me."

Smiling, Clark remembered how Shayera had gone through a phase where she had referred to Wonder Woman as 'the royal bitch' behind her back. When Diana found out, she had been genuinely puzzled as to how she had earned that particular nickname, and nobody had dared to explain it to her.

And now, meeting the blaze of her fearless eyes, Clark was reminded of another pair of eyes that had almost the same shade of _entitlement_ in them when their owner was making demands of obedience. "The Princess of the Amazons," Clark mused aloud, his smile spreading. "Definitely a good match for the Prince of Gotham."

"Enough! I will not be mocked."

Clark put his hands up. "I just want to talk to you."

"About _him_." She looked away, and then tilted her sword so that she could study Clark's reflection on the polished metal. The reflection shivered a bit as she tightened her grip.

"Yes. He told me you had a fight. What did he say to you?"

"It matters not. I will soon be rid of him." If she'd been wearing a helmet, she would have almost certainly punctuated that sentiment by slamming the visor closed.

The first wisp of impatience clouded Clark's demeanor. "Listen to yourself. You're talking like one of the bad guys."

A smack, loud as a gunshot. He opened his eyes in surprise, and saw tears in hers. Felt the heat rise to the surface of his skin where she'd struck his cheek.

Nothing needed to be said. His eyes held hers with a steady gaze, almost _assaulting_ her with understanding and compassion. He stepped forward again, expecting her to fall right into the hug that was waiting for her.

And that was why he didn't even see it coming when she punched him hard enough to send him flying.

* * *

"Bruce? What are you doing here?" Lois rubbed her face, sat up, self-consciously adjusted the tank top she'd worn to bed.

"The rumor you heard," Bruce said, trying hard not to speak as Batman. "It isn't true."

"Yeah, I saw Booster Gold at the press conference," she said, unimpressed. "It was just supposed to be a joke, blah blah blah. But you know what I think?" She gave him a searing look. "I think Booster Gold is probably pretty susceptible to intimidation."

"You're right," Bruce said, stepping forward. "I told him exactly what he would and wouldn't say."

"Uh-huh. And you're here now to tell me to put a lid on this whole mess at the Daily Planet. Probably already paid a 'visit' to some of the other major media corporations too."

"Wrong." Bruce came even closer. "I'm here because you need to know what happened. Last night I couldn't sleep. Nightmares. Had them all my life. Superman couldn't stand the sound of them, said I was keeping him awake."

"So he came over to _comfort_ you? That's your story?"

"He did _this_," Bruce said, a little too gruffly, and Lois flinched as he reached out—and turned on the lamp on her nightstand.

A soft cozy glow filled the room, rendering the dark shape of the Batman abruptly finite and obvious.

Lois marveled at the change. Suddenly Batman barely existed, leaving just Bruce Wayne in a costume. She narrowed her eyes at him as he finished recounting his tale.

"He turned on the light, and sat with me until I fell asleep. I didn't ask him to, didn't want him to. But that's what he did."

Lois searched the blank eyeholes of his mask. "The only reason I believe you is because that's one of the most pathetic stories I've ever heard," she grumbled at last. "If you'd been making it up, you would have added at least one scene of you beating the tar out of him."

"Hmpf." Bruce pressed his lips together, and Lois could've sworn he was fighting back a smile. When he spoke again, he sounded distinctly amused. "Actually, I just didn't mention that part. While we were disagreeing over whether the light would be staying on or off, I knocked him down. Booster Gold happened to be passing by, and he interpreted what he saw according to his own prerogative."

Lois rolled her eyes. "Wow. That's one heck of a misunderstanding."

"Not compared to what happened in the morning…"

* * *

Diana's relentless attacks took them high above the island, until, dwarfed by the sky, they looked like two red-and-blue hummingbirds suspended over the turquoise sea.

"How many hearts has he broken, Clark?!" She emphasized her words with savage slashes of her blade, Clark just barely managing to dodge out of the way. "_Has he broken yours yet?_" Immediately he thought of Lois, felt sad. And decided that Diana's rampage had gone on long enough.

He caught her wrist. She fought, futilely, to get free, crying out in disgust and rage as he caught her other hand. She was trapped now, unable to wield her sword or her lasso, and Superman was dragging her out of the sky, bringing her along as an unwilling passenger on a gradual, feet-first descent back to earth.

He thought the fight was over. He was trying to talk to her, to reason with her. She was his prisoner. Her eyes flashed, angry fireworks. And with all her strength, she kicked him in the balls.

"_Hoh_," he coughed, and his grip on her arms tightened. He looked up at her with respect born from pain. "Ouch."

Smashing both of her wrists together in one of his hands, he whipped her around until he got hold of both of her ankles in his other hand, and then draped her body across his shoulders. "Now where did you learn that?" he asked good-naturedly as she continued, furiously, to struggle against him. "That was literally below the belt."

"Black Canary," spat Diana. "She recommended that technique as a last resort."

"Brutal," Clark commented. "I'll have to warn Ollie."

"I don't understand," Diana said, her voice cracking a little. "Why do they do things that hurt each other? Why do people in love always _hurt _each other?"

Clark stepped down out of the sky at the entrance of the abandoned temple where their short-lived battle had begun. He could feel her breaking down, shuddering against his shoulder as she started to cry.

"I don't know, Diana," he said, voice and expression solemn. He let go of her wrists and ankles and lifted her, gently, over his head. But instead of setting her on her feet, he slid one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, and cradled her against his chest.

She wiped her eyes and looked up at him. "You're treating me like a child," she accused.

He smiled. "Actually, I'm treating you like a girl. Is that okay?"

She had to think about it for a moment. At last she nodded, and closed her eyes against the top corner of the shield on his uniform.

* * *

"I can just picture it!" Lois was laughing. They had moved their conversation to the kitchen and now faced each other over steaming mugs of coffee. "Supe--superman—Superman waking up, being all like, 'oh, good morning, Wonder Woman'!" She burst into a fresh fit of giggles that left her gasping for air.

"I'm glad you find it so amusing," Bruce muttered.

"And- and- and can you _imagine_ how poor Wonder Woman must've felt? God, Bruce, that would be like-- like if I showed up at Wayne Manor one morning and found _you_ in bed with, with— Clark Kent!"

"Yes, it'd be just like that," Bruce said flatly.

"Hmm." Suddenly Lois had a certain gleam in her eye. Bruce had seen that sort of gleam before, usually when Selina Kyle had her whip wrapped around his neck. "That reminds me." She looked down into her coffee and then sat up very straight, peering intently at Bruce's masked face. "Just how well do you know my old friend Clark?"

"I know who he is," Bruce said, his tone carefully measured.

"And do you honestly think I _don't?_" Lois asked, and then her voice turned serious. "I've known for years. But don't tell him. I don't want him to get out of telling me himself."

"How'd you figure it out?"

She shrugged. "Called him Clark once, purely by accident, and he _answered_ before I could correct myself. The funny thing is, while I was standing there with my jaw on the floor, he didn't even _realize_ that he'd given it away."

"Typical."

"Since then, I've grown disturbingly fond of torturing him."

There was a smile in his voice, if not on his face. "Don't worry. He'll forgive you."

* * *

When Clark finally put her down, she still clung to him, her face pressed to his chest. He kept his arms around her, glad that she already seemed to be recovering. He considered it an honor and a privilege to be a friend for her, just to stand there and hold her so she knew that he cared about her, no matter how angry or horrible she was feeling. He knew that his shoulders were very good for crying on.

But then, out of nowhere, he felt Diana's lips brush his neck, and the entire world changed spectrums.

His whole body grew still. The air in the temple instantly turned to lead.

She hated him. Hated him for being stronger, for being better, for being closer to Bruce. For being on Bruce's side, for _understanding_ him in a way that she could not. She hated him because she knew that Bruce loved him. And most of all, she hated him because he was exactly what she needed.

She waited for the eternity of three seconds for the response that he wouldn't give her, and then tried again.

If that first kiss had frozen him, the second thawed him out again. He brought his hands to her shoulders, held her in place while he stepped back. "Diana, no. Bad idea," he told her, as kindly as he could.

Her eyes were fierce. "You disapprove of my motives?" she asked coolly, resuming her regal manner.

"Probably, yes. And _definitely_ yes if it's about some kind of revenge against Bruce."

"What if I'm just curious?" she asked. She could have said it coyly, but she didn't. She was being completely straightforward.

Clark shook his head. "Still a bad idea," he told her. "You can be curious with Bruce. Not with me."

She turned away, shrugging off his hands. "I didn't tell you what our fight was about."

Clark looked at her, worried, but hopeful that they were getting somewhere. "Would you like to?" he asked at last.

She sighed, and unfastened her cloak, folding it in her arms. Clark couldn't deny that seeing her bare shoulders again made him freshly conscious of her beautiful figure. He hoped she knew how pretty she was; he didn't want her to think he'd pushed her away because he found her unattractive.

"I'm not good enough for him," she said, bitterly matter-of-fact. "Or rather, I'm _too_ good for him, as he put it. But I know what he meant."

* * *

"I meant I'm not going to risk ruining her," Bruce said. Lois nodded and tapped her finger against the side of her mug, as if the reporter in her was impatient to be taking notes. "She's… inexperienced," Bruce continued. "Innocent. She wouldn't understand. I'm the wrong person to teach her about love."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Bruce." Lois leaned back in her chair, sipped her coffee. "Even if she is perfect, that doesn't mean _you_ have to be. You're not _bad_ at being romantic, you know. Roses, champagne, all that—you'll have no problem sweeping her off her feet."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Bruce replied. "She's already fallen for me. If I reciprocate, she might never recover. Diana talks about 'Man's world' as if she were just _visiting_. I'm only good for women who've been saturated by 'Man's world' and aren't impressed with it. Women who know how to handle disappointment and rejection and betrayal in a relationship. Women who know how to land on their feet."

Lois looked down at her coffee and smirked. "Women like me," she summarized.

"Yes," Bruce said simply. "Like you and Selina and a dozen others, who knew how to play the game."

"So you didn't have to worry about hurting our feelings when it was over," Lois realized.

"I knew you could take care of yourself, yes. And I mean that as a compliment," Bruce said sincerely.

Lois gave him a bright smile; she was in on the secret now. "Thanks," she said, and leaned forward across the table. "But you still said you were sorry, the next time that you saw me. And so now Iknow that you're a hopeless romantic, Bruce Wayne," she said. "And I mean that as a compliment too."

For a golden moment they regarded each other across the table in absolute empathy, neither one regretting what had once been between them, and both completely over it.

"So," Bruce growled. "What are you doing for dinner?"

It was a joke and she knew it, so she laughed. "Don't tempt me," she joked back, rolling her eyes. "It's getting so bad at work that some days I just want to molest him in the elevator. If I was just one tiny bit less proud of my professional image, I swear I would hide under his desk and give him the surprise of his life."

Bruce grinned at that, and the open display of emotion on his face encouraged her. "Wait right here," she said, jumping up. "I want to show you something."

She disappeared into the bedroom and came back a moment later holding a pair of dainty white cotton panties. Bruce quirked an eyebrow as she turned them over to reveal, written in permanent marker across the back: _I know who you are, CLARK!!_

Bruce almost laughed.

"The man has x-ray vision, does he not?" Lois demanded, as Bruce tried to drown his near-laughter in his coffee. "Well. I wore these one day and kept my back turned to him all day long, _confident_ that he'd get the message. And what does he do? He comes up to me all repentant and sad and asks me, seriously asks me if he's done something to offend me and if we could please talk about it. With those blue eyes of his behind those _ridiculous_ glasses—ugh! I just wanted to _scream_!"

"You should've known that wouldn't work," Bruce scolded fondly. "He'd never peek, not in a million years. He's too good for that. Besides, if he did, he'd never get any work done."

Lois blushed a little and stuffed the panties into the pocket of her bathrobe. "You're right," she sighed, sitting back down at the table. "He _is_ too good for that. Sometimes, I think he's too good for _me_. Kind of like your problem with Diana."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully, and Lois's eyes locked on his like a steel trap. "Let me ask you something, Bruce." She carefully rested her elbows on the table, interlocking her fingers. "If you're so sure that _you're_ not the right person to teach Diana about love, then who do you think is qualified for the job?"

His answer was gruff. "Somebody better."

"Better than you. Right." There was no masking the sarcasm in her voice.

Bruce sighed. "Somebody…warmer," he said reluctantly. "Kinder. More compassionate. Somebody without a dark shadow over their soul."

Lois raised an eyebrow at him. "Poetic," she deemed. "And you realize, of course, that you're talking about somebody exactly like Clark."

He sat there, momentarily stunned, and didn't reply. Lois judged his lack of reaction accurately, and shook her head. "And if it only took _me_ five minutes to think of that, how long do you think it'll take Wonder Woman?"

* * *

"He actually _told_ you to find _someone else?_" Clark was baffled. Diana was pacing in front of him, relating what she and Bruce had been fighting about. Now she nodded.

"And I told him there _was_ no one else. That was the end of it." She stopped pacing abruptly, turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. "But now, I'm reconsidering. Maybe Bruce was right. Maybe I _do _need someone else at first."

"And you've decided on _me_?" Clark asked.

"You'll do," she said, moving closer. "We're already friends; we'd stay friends. We could enter a relationship based on mutually understood conditions--"

"Wait, wait. Time out." he gave her a genuinely concerned and uncomfortable look. "You aren't talking about a _physical_ relationship, are you?"

She blinked, and Clark got the disturbing impression that either his question had been too direct for her to answer, or that it had gone right over her head. "What you said before inspired me," she told him. "You can teach me what it means to be treated like a 'girl', and how I ought to treat a man. Once I've learned the basics, I can go back to pursuing a relationship with Bruce, and he won't be able to cite my lack of experience as a reason to deny me."

"This is one of the craziest schemes I've ever…"

"Will you at least give it a try? As a favor to me, as a friend? Please." She touched his arm, and ran her fingers up to his shoulder. She bit her lip, and looked at his mouth, and he knew she meant to kiss him.

He brought a hand up to the side of her face, smoothed her hair back behind her ear. There was no doubt in his mind.

"Diana, I can't."

She let out a breath. "Why not?"

"It doesn't feel right. I feel like I'd be kissing my sister."

"That's absurd."

Clark's expression was grave. "Think about it. You're talking about a completely _fake_ relationship. It'd be wrong. Just think about it and tell me… could you really go through with it?"

Intuitively she knew the right answer, knew what he needed her to say. But desperation and anger too recently spent made her eager to consider the alternative.

Her eyes swept back and forth across his face, then dipped to admire the smoothly curving lines of his body. Naturally, she liked what she saw, as did most women. There were a few who were turned off by sheer mass, by muscle. Diana wasn't one of them. And, though she felt guilty for even thinking of it, it wouldn't require much imagination to visually substitute Clark's body for Bruce's in any of her fantasies.

The physical attraction was there. She didn't understand it exactly, but it was there.

And, deep in her heart, she knew that it wasn't important.

_Bruce_ was what was important to her. _He_ was what mattered. And even though he had a nearly perfect track record of being right, this time she would prove that he was wrong.

"…No," she answered at last. "No, I couldn't. But Bruce probably thinks that I could."

Clark smiled at her. "Then he doesn't know you well enough. And you should fix that."

"Don't worry," the Princess said, lifting her chin a little. One hand came to rest on her hip, just above her lasso. Her eyes cooled to sapphires. "I intend to."

to be continued!

* * *

_Author's note: I am not completely sold on the whole BM/WW phenomenon… but I am, of course, a huge fan of Clark/Lois. Don't worry though, in the next chapter this story gets back to being about Batman and Superman and how cute they are together. _

_I know this was a long chapter, so thanks for sticking through it! And thanks again everyone for the awesome reviews. I love you guys!!_


	4. Thanks for ruining my night

_Author's note: one of my favorite scenes in "Mask of the Phantasm" (GREAT movie, by the way!) is when Bruce says to Alfred, "Well, you're wrong!!" and hops in the Batmobile and drives away all pissy. That's the Bruce I was picturing for this chapter._

* * *

Chapter Four: Thanks for ruining my night

The downside of relying on gadgets was that sometimes they broke. And whenever one of Batman's most essential gadgets--namely his grappling gun with the retractable cable--broke, he was forced to use alternate methods of scaling the towering edifices of Gotham's business district. His most reliable method in those situations was also the most old-fashioned, and required the greatest expenditure of energy:

Up the side of the building he went, hand over hand. He'd vanished from Metropolis just before dawn and had spent the daylight hours pacing and brooding in his cave, once again unable to sleep. When the sun had finally surrendered he'd gone prowling through the streets of Gotham, proving once again that the petty criminals of his city were his personal punching bags.

But breaking the noses of teenaged gangsters was barely a warm up. There was going to be a meeting that night between some of Rupert Thorn's old friends concerning the sale of illegal firearms, and Batman had been looking forward to it for weeks.

The malfunctioning grappling cable was a minor annoyance.

The _major_ annoyance arrived when he had just about twenty feet left to climb.

* * *

Superman appeared out of nowhere, floating up silently beside him as if riding an invisible elevator.

"Need a ride?" Clark asked, just as amicable as ever. How he managed to look amused without seeming even the least bit smug was beyond Bruce's comprehension.

Bruce grit his teeth. "No."

Clark shrugged and slowed his ascent, so that he was hovering next to Bruce as the man finished climbing to the roof. "I waited for you back on the Watchtower," Clark stated.

"We never agreed to meet back up on the Watchtower. You could have called."

"By the time I realized you weren't coming, I figured you were busy."

"_Hnph_," Bruce grunted. His hands were starting to feel the strain, even through his gloves. It had been a long and strenuous climb. "Well I'm 'busy' _now_," he pointed out.

"We're going to talk about what happened," Clark informed him. Apparently the issue wasn't up for debate, so Bruce didn't challenge him. Instead, he pulled himself onto the roof, and immediately began coiling up his grappling cable.

"Diana thinks you don't want to have anything to do with her until she proves that she can handle herself in a relationship," Clark began. Batman, meanwhile, was already examining the rusted-over hinges on the metal cover of a large exhaust vent.

"We talked about it, and I had to convince her that using _me _for a romantic test subject was a bad idea."

"You actually _rejected_ her?" His voice was angry, but Batman didn't look up. He wasn't having any luck with the rusted grate, and reached for a pouch on his belt to try a different tool.

"I knew she wasn't serious about what she was offering," Clark explained.

"If she _offered _at all, she was serious," Bruce replied. "Just as _I_ was serious about what I told her. My mission comes first. I _won't_ let her get in my way." The rusted metal still refused to budge, and Bruce reached for his belt again, taking out a laser pen.

"Here," Clark said dismissively, and seared through the rusty hinges with his eyes, without even asking permission.

The laser pen snapped in Batman's fist.

"You may not be in a position to 'let' her do anything," Clark continued. Ignoring him, Batman lowered himself into the now-open exhaust vent. "She's in love with you."

The Bat's voice rumbled up out of the darkness, coldly sarcastic. "Then she can join my fan club."

Superman took a deep breath, rolling his eyes to Gotham's blanket of smoggy purple clouds. Then he looked down at the black square hole his friend had disappeared into, and exhaled, shaking his head. Bruce certainly was in a mood.

"_What_ are you doing?" Batman demanded in an impatient whisper as Clark followed him into the vent.

"Talking to you," Clark replied, unfazed.

"They're right below us," Bruce hissed. "This isn't a good time to chat."

Superman squinted at the floor. "Actually, they're _two floors_ below us," he reported. "And, by the way, this air duct doesn't connect to the room that they're in."

Batman grit his teeth. "Then it's a good thing my sidekick for this evening can punch through walls."

Clark smiled. "I thought you hated it when I helped you out."

"Does that stop you?"

"No."

* * *

Clark went through the wall first, taking it like a champ as the Uzis unloaded on him in surprise. In the strobe-light flashing and deafening staccato of the gunfire, nobody noticed the shadow that slipped around behind them and dropped them one by one to the floor.

It was over in less than a minute. Clark crumpled the weapons up into balls as if they'd been made of tin foil while Bruce zip-tied the unconscious criminals, and suddenly they were standing around watching the dust settle.

"Well, that was fun," Clark said, hands on his hips. "Bad guys defeated. Now can we talk?"

"_Outside_," Bruce snarled. He could feel his blood pressure rising. He'd been spinning up _all day_ for that raid, and now that it was over he had no outlet for his excess adrenaline. He would've used the walk back to his car to calm down, but with Clark on his heels still '_explaining_' about Diana, every step just made him more pissed off.

At last they reached the Batmobile, which he'd parked in an alley several blocks away. Bruce went around to the driver's side while Clark stopped on the passenger side. "…and I _know_ you have a heart under all that Kevlar because I can hear it pounding away," Clark was saying. "So if you'd just turn off the big bat-computer in your brain and give her a chance--"

Bruce opened the door and glared at Clark across the top of the car, cutting him off. "This conversation is over," he growled. "Thanks for ruining my night!"

With a wing-ish flap of cape, he tucked himself into his vehicle and slammed the door. Clark sighed and reached for the sleek black handle on the passenger side door—and just as his fingers brushed it, he heard it click.

Locked.

He paused, his eyes frozen to the sight of his invulnerable hand poised to open the door. Of course he could tear the door right off if he wanted to; he could rip the entire Batmobile into ribbons. Bruce knew he couldn't keep Clark out. But he'd locked the door anyway.

Clark let his hand drop to his side and glanced through the tinted window, getting a good look at Bruce's bat-eared profile. It occurred to him then that the reason the Batmobile wasn't already screaming away was because Bruce was _expecting_ him to break open the door and get in.

Clark didn't know what to think, didn't know how to react. He was Superman. Nobody made him feel this…hurt.

Looking away, Clark stepped back, and for a second he stared down the dark Gotham street. Then he turned, and walked away.

Bruce revved the engine and peeled out, but couldn't take his eyes off the red cape in his rear-view mirror. Guilt swarmed his conscience and he cursed under his breath, and then reached for the handbrake. The rear wheels locked, he wrenched the steering wheel, and the vehicle skidded around 180 degrees. The engine roared in indignation as he stepped on the gas, and Bruce tried to rationalize that a depressed Clark was just one step away from a Superman who was taking over the world.

But deep inside that Kevlar-shielded heart of his, he knew that had nothing to do with it.

He pulled up beside his friend and rolled down the window.

"Clark. Get in the car."

Clark didn't look at him.

"I'm _sorry_," Bruce growled. "I admit, I wanted you to break the door. I wanted another reason to be mad at you. Please just get in."

Clark stopped abruptly, and Bruce stood on the brakes. The Batmobile leaned forward, and then settled back, grumbling. Clark opened the door and slumped into the seat.

They drove for a minute or two in silence before Bruce felt compelled to say something.

He glanced at Clark; the man of steel was looking out the window. Bruce took a breath, but Clark preempted whatever he was about to say.

"How'd it go with Lois?" A quiet question, a neutral tone of voice.

Bruce nodded a little, appreciative of Clark's willingness to change subjects.

"Fine," he said, and immediately knew that a one-word answer wouldn't suffice in this case. "We had a nice visit," he submitted. "Talked about you."

Clark smiled. "Talked about me, or _me_?" he asked, and from the inflection of his voice Bruce could tell which 'me' meant Superman and which meant Clark.

"Both," Bruce told him. "And just so you know, you need to tell her who you are. That would solve all your problems. Lois has loved you for the longest time and it's not fair of you to keep her waiting. She wants a closer relationship with you."

Clark shook his head, and decided he wanted Bruce to be as clear as possible on this point: "With Clark or with Superman?"

Bruce gave him a look. "Doesn't matter. You're the same person." He caught the shift in Clark's expression, and almost read his mind. "Listen to me very carefully," he said, before Clark could accuse him of being cryptic. "Lois made her feelings clear. If she were to have a closer relationship with one of you, she wouldn't love the _other_ any less."

"…You're saying she could be in love with two men at the same time."

Bruce jabbed an accusatory finger in Clark's direction. "Wrong. But I _knew_ that was your problem. _You're_ the one who doesn't believe that Clark and Superman are the same person. But the fact is, you _are_. And the _one_ man in this world that Lois Lane will ever truly love IS Clark Kent AND Superman."

Clark mulled that over for a few minutes in silence, and finally sighed. "It's been a while since she's been up to the Fortress. Maybe I could bring her up there this weekend, if she's not busy."

He sounded so genuinely hopeful that Bruce cracked a smile. "Sounds romantic. But I think Superman should take her out to dinner in Metropolis."

"Superman can't go to restaurants, Bruce. People just stare."

"Let them stare all they want. Lois'll love it."

Clark grinned. "You're right," he conceded. "And as happy as I am to know that she might finally be taking _Clark_ a little more seriously, it would be fun to take her out on a real date as Superman."

"Not to mention convenient," Bruce added. "Imagine just being able to fly out the window afterwards."

Clark blinked a few times. "Excuse me?" there was something ominous in his voice, which Bruce completely dismissed.

"All you'd have to do is tell her there's a plane crashing in Malaysia and, _whoosh_, you're free."

"I would _never_ do that to her."

"You do that to her all the time!"

"But only when there really IS a plane crashing in Malaysia!"

Bruce shook his head. "You know what I mean. And since we're referring to ourselves in the third _persons_ today, I can't tell you how many times Bruce Wayne has looked out a penthouse window and wished he had one of Batman's grappling lines."

Clark scowled. "You think I'd want to _escape_ from her? You think I'd _abandon_ her?" There was anger in his voice now, which Bruce immediately realized he needed to take seriously.

"No, I'm just saying that Superman wouldn't have to put up with the stuff that Clark would."

"_Put up with?_"

Bruce couldn't believe how riled Clark had gotten. He tried to clarify. "_Clark _works in the same office as her. She _knows_ where Clark lives. Like I've told Diana, it's always a bad idea to date a coworker. That's why it'd be easier for you as Superman. It's not like Lois will ever show up at your _Fortress_ and beat up your butler and key your Lamborghini."

"_Lois_ won't do those things because _I_ won't treat her like an object to be thrown out the second she requires _care!_"

Now it was Bruce's turn to raise his voice. "_You_ don't know the first thing about women, and you dare to accuse me of mishandling them? I don't have to _justify_ my lifestyle to you or anyone else!"

Superman narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I was wrong for thinking you and Diana had a chance," he said bitterly. "She deserves someone better."

"I'm glad we finally agree!" Bruce yelled. "And if she wants _you_, I hope you'll help yourself! The two of you are practically a left and a right sock anyway! And if _I _get lonely, don't worry, there are plenty of women who have no problem with how I treat them, including your precious Lois!"

"That does it!" Superman brought his knees to his chest, braced his feet against the dashboard.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bruce asked, but in an instant it became clear. The metal groaned as it tore. With one kick, Clark destroyed the Batmobile, effectively separating it into two pieces. The demolished engine block and the front wheels rolled on, sputtering, and came to a stop, while the rest of the vehicle dropped to the ground. Both Bruce and Clark were still in their seats, facing the open road. And then suddenly Superman was hauling Bruce out of the wreckage with one hand.

He rose into the air so that Bruce's boots were a few feet off the ground, and pulled him in close. "Lois already has one billionaire ex-boyfriend that isn't allowed to touch her. _Don't_ make me add _you_ to the list."

The '_weee-ooo_' of a police siren greeted them then, and they both turned their heads to watch as the first GCPD cruiser arrived on the scene.

...to be continued!...

* * *

_A/N: oh, I hope you guys liked this chapter! The scene of Bruce locking the door as Clark was about to open it absolutely broke my heart to write, although for a while I debated if Bruce would actually be that childish. Obviously I kept it in there, mostly so that I could write the bit after that where Bruce tells Clark to get in the car. Grin. _

_Just wait til you see what happens next!!_


	5. It gives me a headache

Chapter Five: It gives me a headache

"Get us out of here," Bruce demanded.

Instead, Superman lowered them both back to earth, keeping hold of Bruce by the front of his uniform. The officers were getting out of their car. One of them was calling it in on a radio. "Sorry about the wreck," Clark projected over the wail of the siren. "I'll clean it up in a minute."

"We aren't here because of your vehicle, uh, _accident_, sir," the officer said. "We're going to have to ask you to come down to the station. You're both—" his voice dried up, and he barely managed to squeak out the rest of his statement: "--_under arrest_."

Superman's forehead creased in concern. "For what?" he asked.

Batman grit his teeth. "It doesn't matter _for what_, you idiot. Let's go."

Clark gave him an annoyed glance and then looked back at the approaching policeman. He was a young cop, clean-cut, with a recently ironed uniform and a pulse rate of about 140 beats per minute.

Terrified.

Clark's expression softened and his grip on Bruce tightened. "It's okay," he announced. "I've got him. He's not gonna hurt you."

Bruce muttered something derogatory under his breath that even super-hearing couldn't quite decipher.

Meanwhile, the kid gave a nervous grin and a shaky laugh. "With all due respect, sir, he ain't the one with _lasers_ comin' out his eyes."

"Oh," Clark said, blinking. The change in his demeanor was instantaneous. Bruce marveled at the way that Clark chameleoned right before his eyes, changing from the imposing god he wasn't to little league coach he was (on Saturdays). That was how Clark got away with being himself; how he didn't need a mask. "Well," he said to the cop, "if you're really worried about that, then I have to say, you're being pretty brave right now and I respect that. You guys don't know me as well as the Metropolis PD, but I hope you've heard that I don't consider _anyone_ to be above the law. You've got the authority to arrest us. But we've got the right to know what for."

As Clark was speaking, three more police vehicles rolled up, one of them a windowless black van. A quick x-raying glance confirmed that it contained a SWAT team, and Clark mentally congratulated them on their quick response. Not that a SWAT team would be necessary, of course, since he had every intention of complying and coming along quietly, and of ensuring that Bruce did as well. The important thing was to get down to the police station and sort everything out before—

But even as the thought formed in his mind, it was too late. The news van rolled up, the camera crew leapt out.

"Wonderful," Bruce muttered. "Nice going, _Superman_. This is exactly the sort of press we need right now: _'Superman on Rampage in Gotham.'_ Get off your model-citizen soapbox and fly us out of here _now_."

"No," Clark decided. "We're staying and we're going to do the right thing. People need to know that we don't just do whatever we want."

"Speak for yourself."

"Actually, I'm trying to speak for the League," Clark admitted, lowering his voice. "You know how nervous the government has gotten about us lately. I agree that it's bad press, but it's good politics."

The young cop cleared his throat.

"Um, like I said, sirs, you're going to have to come with us back to the station. We'll have you fill out some statements and--"

"I'm _Batman_. I don't fill out _statements_," Batman growled ferociously. The cop winced a tiny bit.

"Statements about what?" Superman asked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that a small crowd was gathering, curious. The SWAT team had already formed a perimeter, and once again Clark was impressed by their expedience. They knew what they were doing.

He was less impressed by the prompt arrival of the paparazzi. Within seconds the cameras were flashing, and despite the cops' best efforts to keep them back, they kept pressing in. Suddenly everyone was talking: the cops, the spectators, the paps, the news crew:

"…_wrecked_ the Batmobile…"

"…some kind of fight?..."

"…completely out of control…"

"…found dead in an office building…"

The word '_dead_' hit Clark like an electric jolt and he spun to find out where it had come from. Who was dead? What had hap—

A flashbulb went off in his face. "Hey _Supes!_" the man was hanging over the arms of the cops who were trying to shove him back. He had his camera at the ready, a sneering grin on his face. "What'd you do? Had a little _lover's quarrel_ with your Bat-fag?"

Clark reacted. He reached out, grabbed the camera, crunched it to bits in his hand. There was a collective gasp, and an almost unanimous _'thwick'_ as guns were whipped out of holsters and brought to bear on the subject that could now be considered hostile.

The chatter had ceased completely. Camera crumbs fell from Clark's hand. Everyone, it seemed, was holding their breath.

Superman sighed. "Don't shoot," he said, calm.

"He's in a _dangerous mood_," Bruce announced to the crowd, in an effort to capitalize on the tense situation. There was an edge to his tone, slightly proud, the way he sounded when he'd solved the case, when he had his quarry cornered.

But Clark knew what his act was about, and stopped him with a look.

It was both a warning and a plea: _don't do it, Bruce. Don't make them scared of me._

Then he looked around at all the cops, trying to see the people past the weapons that they held, the weapons that were aimed at him. "I'm on your side," he told them, very clearly. "I'm here to help you do your job."

The SWAT team leader had his hand over his ear, listening to his earpiece. Suddenly he nodded, muttered "roger that," and stepped forward, signaling for his men to lower their weapons. "Get those people out of here," he ordered, indicating the crowd of assorted onlookers. His men snapped into action. There was something straightforward and soldierly about this man that Clark immediately liked. "Superman, I'm sorry about this," he said, his voice roughened by too many years of cigarettes and bad coffee. "I've just received notification that we're taking you both into custody. And we're gonna have to cuff you prior to transport, it's just the policy."

"That's all right," Clark said. "Do what you need to do."

The officer nodded, and then tossed his chin towards Batman. "Him first," he said, as another SWAT member approached with handcuffs.

"No," Batman said abruptly. Something didn't feel right. Superman was still holding him firmly in place, but he started to fight anyway. A couple more SWAT units closed in. "_No!_" he shouted through clenched teeth.

They managed (with a little help from Superman) to take him down. They pressed his face into the asphalt as they cuffed him hand and foot and confiscated his utility belt.

"Your turn," the team leader said to Superman, gruff but sympathetic. He nodded to his subordinate, who pulled a shiny silver pair of handcuffs out of a pouch on his tac vest. Clark put his hands behind his back.

The cuffs ratcheted shut, and immediately the SWAT leader put his hand on Clark's shoulder. "Look at me, son," he said, as if he were talking to one of his troops. Clark obeyed, meeting his eyes. And then he felt it.

A dull pain swept up his arms, and quickly spread through his whole body. He dropped his gaze, blinking through a wash of dizziness. He felt… sick.

The SWAT leader was still looking at him. "Do y'understand?" he asked, not unkindly.

There was only one thing that could cause the effects Superman was feeling. But even as the realization sunk in about what had been done to him, he found that he couldn't be angry. It was only fair, after all.

"Yes," he said after a minute. "I understand."

The man patted his shoulder, meaning well, but Clark could only think of a dog being petted as it was put to sleep.

* * *

There weren't any seats in the back of the windowless black van, so they sat on the floor. Or at least, Clark sat on the floor, while Bruce thrashed around on his side trying to get free of his restraints.

There also wasn't any light in the back of the van, so they sat/thrashed in complete darkness.

Suddenly Bruce stopped struggling. "They aren't taking us to the station," he realized, his voice belonging to the darkness itself. "We would have been there by now."

Unconcerned by the fact that Clark didn't respond, he went back to work. A few minutes later, with a move that would've amazed Houdini himself, Bruce managed to get the cuffs off his ankles and bring his hands in front of him. From there it should've been easy to get the cuffs off his wrists, or at least apply enough torsion to the links to get them to break, but everything he tried ended in failure.

It was especially frustrating because _Superman_ was sitting right there, listening to him struggle and not even offering to help. Bruce hadn't even heard Clark snap the handcuffs off his _own_ wrists yet, which meant that the man of steel was still happily playing along, content to be a prisoner, convinced that he was being a good little superhero, abiding by the law.

At last it bothered him that Clark hadn't said a word for the entire ride.

"Are they monitoring us?" he asked the corner of the van where he was reasonably sure that Clark was huddled.

"…I don't know."

It took near super-human strength for Bruce to quell his temper. "Can you see through the walls or not?" he seethed.

"I…can," Clark said hesitantly, as if he had just now figured that out. "But it gives me a headache."

Bruce had studied ventriloquism at one time; perhaps that was how he was able to speak so well through completely clenched teeth. "Well I will _get_ you an _aspirin_ when we get out of here," he growled, enunciating each word with razor-bladed sarcasm.

Clark sighed. "No cameras, no sensors, no bugs, no wires" he reported. "And we're heading west, out of the city. There are four men in the cab, all armed. One with a machine gun."

"Great," Bruce grunted. They lapsed into silence. The van, their prison, made a turn and accelerated.

"I can't believe you're still going along with this," Bruce hissed. "They never told us what we're suspected of."

"…they found some people dead," Clark replied, again with the hesitation in his voice, as if he had to muster up the strength to speak.

"What people?"

"I…didn't catch all of it. They said they found them in an office building… Bruce. That was an office building we broke into tonight."

"There are dozens of office buildings in Gotham," Bruce said. "And we didn't kill anybody."

"But we left them… helpless," Clark said. "Anybody could've come along and…finished them off. If they suspect us… we should cooperate. With the investigation."

Bruce was taken aback. "You still believe that letting them apprehend us was the right thing to do."

The silence said everything that Bruce didn't want to hear.

This whole mess was _undeniably_ Clark's fault and Clark wasn't even _sorry _for it. If Superman wanted to take the fall for some impromptu Justice League political stunt or to make rookie cops feel better about themselves that was his business. But to drag _Batman_ into it was seriously crossing the line. Bruce smoldered over the scene of their capture: Clark had held him down when they cuffed him. The anger that he felt, that had been brewing all day, couldn't be expressed in words.

But maybe a kick to the head would express it just fine. It seemed worth a try.

"_rrrggh_ _WHERE are you?_" Bruce demanded, standing up.

"…right here," came the meek response.

He had to have known it was coming. Bruce half expected Clark to break his handcuffs and bring his hands around to catch Bruce's foot in midair. Or he could've dodged it, or just clenched his jaw and taken it square on the chin, letting Bruce hurt his foot.

But when the kick connected, Clark slumped to the floor.

"_Stop_ playing," Bruce ordered. "Get up!"

No answer. Bruce stood there in the darkness, fuming. Clark still hadn't moved. "You're taking this martyr act way too far," Bruce warned him. "Someday, they're going to make it so it's not--"

_an act._ He froze. Something Clark had said just registered.

_Can you see through the walls or not?_

_I…can, but it gives me a headache._

Since when did using his x-ray vision give Clark a headache? Bruce hurried forward, tripped over one of Clark's legs, and fell to his knees, blindly feeling in front of him.

"_Clark!_" He found an elbow, followed it to the handcuffed wrists. Bruce felt over the handcuffs, realized immediately that they were special-made. He found the slot for the key. It was shaped like an "L."

As in, _LexCorp_.

Like a man drowning, Bruce tugged at those handcuffs in a furious panic, cursing himself for not knowing, and Clark for not telling him. He _had_ sensed that something was amiss, something hadn't felt right. The clues were there—the SWAT chief giving Clark that extra bit of sympathy. Clark's quietness. He should have figured it out!

Bruce stopped his futile efforts. Forced himself to calm down. It felt like he'd just wasted hours; in truth it had only been a couple seconds. Clark had landed on his stomach and his head was turned to the left, so Bruce took hold of his left shoulder and carefully rolled him up onto his side, and then eased him down onto his back.

He put his hands on Clark's chest, over his heart, and bent down to feel and listen for his breathing.

He was breathing. That was good. _That was good_.

"Clark. Can you hear me?"

"nnh."

Bruce took a sharp breath, refusing to give in to feelings of relief. "Are you all right?"

"…no," Clark muttered. "My head…hurts."

"Anything else?"

"…_everything_ else," Clark declared.

"How bad is it?" Bruce asked, his cold tone making it clear that he needed full disclosure.

Clark groaned a little, rolled to his side. Bruce steadied him so he could sit back up. He leaned his head against the wall, and Bruce could tell from his breathing that he was in pain. "…not bad," Clark answered at last. "It'd take… weeks for me… to die from it, I think."

_Weeks_, not hours. Not minutes, thank God. Bruce surrendered at last, let all his emotions get washed under a deluge of relief. Clark was going to be okay. Bruce would make sure of it.

"I'll take care of you. We'll find a way out."

It was a promise and Clark knew it. He closed his eyes, whole-heartedly thankful that Bruce was there. He recalled something he'd said before, which seemed appropriate for the situation:

"You're…not going to let me… hug you for that, are you?"

Unseen, in the dark, under his mask, Bruce's eyes tightened. And not from a scowl.

"How about a deal. You get these handcuffs off of us and you can hug me all you want. I'll even hug you back."

Clark sighed. "Sorry…strength's gone."

It wasn't the end of the world, but it was still a pretty sobering revelation. Superman, vulnerable. Killable.

Bruce felt his heart rate quicken a little. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly.

For a minute, Clark said nothing. "…Would it have changed anything?"

"I wouldn't have kicked you."

"heh." Bruce could hear him smiling. "But… I kind of deserved that. It's …my fault we're in this mess."

"And you broke my car," Bruce pointed out.

Clark took a deep breath; it sounded painful. "So… are we even?"

Bruce pressed his lips together. "We're even," he rumbled. "For now."

"And we're… gonna work together… until we get out of this?"

"Every time," Bruce said.

And that was a promise too.

to be continued!

* * *

_Author's note: This chapter gave me problems because it kept getting WAY too sweet and cuddly. I mean, even beyond MY tolerances, which are pretty high. I think I managed to get it under control though. Question: do Kryptonite handcuffs exist in canon? I kind of feel like they do… or maybe just that they should… but I actually can't recall any specific references. Oh well._

_Anyway, I've been working on another of my Bruce/Clark non-slash one-shots, and of course there are a few more chapters of this story coming up, so I hope you'll stay tuned!_


	6. Welcome to the Government

_A/N: My current perception of Luthor's obsession with Superman is based on the "Superman: Doomsday" animated movie. Wasn't anyone else just completely creeped out by that red sun-lamp room?? Shudder. Anyway, Sorry it took so long to post this. This chapter picks up right where the last chapter left off…_

* * *

Chapter Six: Welcome to the Government

They'd reached that point where their thoughts were aligned, on separate but parallel tracks, a bridge and a tunnel over and through the issue at hand. Nothing further needed to be said, so they sat side-by-side in silence.

Batman had gotten over his anger at Clark, but he was starting to feel impatient. For all his tampering, he still hadn't managed to break the cuffs from his wrists.

Beside him in the dark, Superman sighed. "There's a helicopter," he said neutrally.

Batman paused and considered. He listened; he couldn't hear it. "Following us?"

"…yeah. It's from Washington. …they're…talking to it over a radio up in the cab. There's a V.I.P. on board… but I can't…_nnh_…I can't see who it is."

"That reminds me," said Bruce, standing up. "I need to know exactly how much of your abilities we've got to work with, if any."

Clark shifted. Heavily, clumsily. His handcuffs scraped against the wall. "I feel sick. Weak. I'm… pretty sure I can walk but …flying…everything… it's gone. The only thing that seems… _okay_ is my hearing. But that'll probably die out too."

"You still have some of your x-ray vision. What about heat vision?"

Clark didn't reply. If using x-ray vision was painful, attempting heat vision would likely be excruciating. Bruce jerked his hands apart as far as he could, held them up in front of Clark, presenting the stubborn handcuffs as a target.

"Try it," he directed.

With almost palpable reluctance, Clark obeyed. A dim red glow appeared in his eyes, brightened, and blazed forward.

But as they both knew right away, it was just light. Clark squinted, bit his bottom lip, tried harder.

Bruce held the target perfectly still. He hadn't been optimistic enough to hope for a laser beam. He'd wanted the light.

While Clark was busy focusing on the handcuffs, Bruce quietly took advantage of the opportunity to study the only other thing in the van that the thin red light was illuminating—Clark's face. The contrast of red and black amplified the tension in his features as he strained to muster his fading powers. And there was a nasty two-inch wide abrasion just above his eyebrow, which Bruce was responsible for.

He'd needed to see the damage for himself. In grim relief, he acknowledged that it wasn't as bad as it could've been.

The light flickered. "Never mind," Bruce muttered, as the darkness folded around them again. "That's not going to help us."

Clark hissed a little as he breathed. "My _head_…"

"Stop crying," Bruce ordered, his hands forming fists.

Clark shut up. He wasn't actually _crying_, and Bruce knew that. His Clark-inspired conscience began to nag him. "Conserve energy," he amended. "And let me know if you happen to overhear any clues about where they're taking us."

"Bruce—the helicopter--"

"What about it?"

"They just… gave an order to _gas_ us."

Right on cue, a hundred tiny vents in the floor clicked open.

Clark took a deep, calm-sounding breath, and Bruce's mind flooded with rage. Clark obviously trusted that they were just going to knock him out. _Don't breathe, think._ Granted, that made sense. _Find the way out._ If they'd wanted to kill them, why hadn't they done it right away? _Fight your lungs. Don't breathe. Control._ Maybe they were waiting for the authorization from the V.I.P. in the chopper. _Door. Open the door._ In any event, it was wrong to give in. _Fight. Open the door._ It was wrong to trust. _Fight. Don't breathe._ _Clark_. Sometimes things go wrong. _Clark_. Sometimes luck runs--

* * *

He woke up sitting in a chair, slumped over a table. As the haze cleared from his mind, he sat up. There were still cuffs around his wrists, only now his hands were separated and bolted to the table. He was alone in the little room, which was dark and featureless except for two windows of one-way glass and one beefy, blast-resistant door. He looked up.

A single light bulb dangled from a string above him.

Typical.

Before long, the door unlocked and opened, revealing an unmistakable silhouette against the backdrop of an antiseptic white hallway.

"…_Waller_."

"Hello, Batman." She moved into the room like a tank on fluid treads, and secured the door.

Bruce stared her down as she approached.

"What is this about?" he demanded as she took the seat across from him.

"National Security." She folded her hands on top of the table. "…and you don't seem impressed."

"I'd have been disappointed if it had been anything else."

Her eyes gleamed in shrewd approval. "Hmm. Next question then."

"Does this have anything to do with people found _dead_ in an _office building_ in Gotham?"

He'd gotten right down to business without skipping a beat. She liked that about him. "Don't worry, by now you and Superman have already been cleared of suspicion. Killing them was Luthor's call, not mine. I've already let him know that I disapprove."

Anger worsened his frown. "They're _dead_, Waller. Your disapproval doesn't matter now."

"Then let's talk about what _does_ matter." She pulled out a slender remote control and clicked a button, and a screen lit up on the wall. Bruce refused to look at it, and just kept glaring at Waller until she indicated with a raised eyebrow and a dip of her head that he ought to take a look.

Slowly, disdainfully, Batman deigned to turn his head. The screen displayed a video feed of Superman in a cube-shaped cell, sitting on the floor. They'd taken the handcuffs off him, but the ceiling and walls of the cell were lined with red sun lamps. Bruce stared hard at the screen, carefully keeping his mouth expressionless. Clark's cape was draped over his shoulders, covering his arms. He looked like a refugee huddled in a red blanket.

Waller set the remote down on the table. "We've improved the cell design since the last time we confined him," she said, proudly matter-of-fact.

"You mean, _Luthor's_ improved it," Bruce guessed.

Waller took her time deciding how to tell him he was right. "Yes," she said at last. "As you're probably aware, he takes anti-Superman technology _very_ seriously. His research and dedication have been invaluable."

Bruce kept his voice cold. "What does he _want_, Waller?"

"Luthor? Well. I suspect he wants _him_." She nodded towards the screen again, but neither of them looked at it. Instead, they stared at each other, weighing, evaluating. They had an understanding.

"He's obsessed," Bruce warned her. She nodded. "He'll break whatever contract you made with him the minute he thinks he's not getting his way."

Waller narrowed her eyes. "So what about Superman?"

"What about him?"

"How important is he _to you?_"

Bruce was unfazed. "By now _you should know_."

"And maybe I do. But you're a good actor. I know you could present your relationship any way you please, and even Superman would be none the wiser."

"Ask _him_ then. You know he'll tell you the truth."

"For now. But we'll train that out of him soon enough. And anyway, his feelings are irrelevant. I need to know where _you_ stand, and you alone."

He thought about smirking, but went with his coldest glare instead. "_Amanda_. Use your brain."

"Hmph." The smirk that he'd been considering appeared in her eyes. "All right. We need a handler for Superman. I still think that Lois Lane is the ideal choice for the role. But the scandal in the tabloids yesterday flipped Luthor's switch. He moved his teams into Gotham right away. One of our special projects tracked you—"

"'_Special Projects_?'" Bruce asked.

"—psychic kids, mostly," Waller explained dismissively. "Nothing for you to worry about. Anyway, the teams set you up and got the police to toe the line. We knew Superman would cooperate."

"And Commissioner Gordon?"

"Livid, but ultimately impotent. This came from way over his head."

"It came from _you_," Bruce summarized.

Amanda Waller folded her hands on the table again. "Like I've already mentioned, I have a serious bone to pick with Luthor over the way he executed the mission. But yes, I authorized it. And since the mission was successful, we're going to move forward."

Weapons-grade sarcasm leaked from his voice. "With your master plan."

She studied him for a moment, and then lowered her voice. "We need him, Batman. Not a monster or a clone or a missile that can _stop_ him. We need _him_. We need his allegiance."

"You've already _got it_," Bruce muttered, iron and sleet and copper in his voice. Silence fell between them as Bruce realized what he'd just given away.

"Well. That answers part of my question," Waller said at length, in a mollifying tone. "You really do believe in him."

Bruce's mouth was a flat, immovable line.

"And now for the rest of it," Waller continued. "The more difficult part." She looked down at her hands, took a quiet breath, and looked back up at his eyes. "If, hypothetically, he were ever…_beyond saving_, and it came down to it… if you _had_ to… if _he_ would _want_ you to… would you be able—"

He cut her off. "Yes. I'd kill him myself."

And that was what it was really all about. That was why, years ago, Clark had given him that little lead box. That was what it _meant_. There was no one in the world that Superman trusted more for that particular task, if, God forbid, it ever had to be done.

Waller studied him. And then nodded. "All right," she said. "You've got the job. Welcome to the Government."

Bruce wasn't amused. "You're kidding."

The gleam reappeared in her eyes. "_Luthor_ won't know that."

Bruce sat back in his chair as far as the cuffs on his wrists would let him. "I see," he said carefully. "You're going to play me against Luthor. For control of Superman."

"It's going to be a jousting match," Waller declared. And then she smiled, confident. "And I've picked my knight."

"So what happens now?"

Waller pushed her chair away from the table. Stood up. "It's almost 3 a.m. Luthor's due here at 6:30 and I'm sure he'll want to talk to you. Until then, I'm quartering you with Superman. What I've shown you is the only surveillance, and for the next fifteen minutes, Luthor won't have access to it." She arched an eyebrow at him. "So I would _advise_ you to make the most of that."

"Don't worry," Bruce said, smirking at last. "I will."

* * *

Clark had just fallen asleep when the door to his cell beeped and then slid open. There was a small antechamber beyond the door similar to an airlock—and standing in it, sans utility belt but seeming unharmed, was:

"Batman!" Clark scrambled to his feet and hurried towards him. The door beeped again, signaling that it was about to close, and Batman stepped into the cell.

Clark made sure to stop himself well outside of Bruce's larger-than-normal personal space. The door hissed shut, the lock automatically engaged. Batman looked annoyed.

"What's going on?" Clark asked, concerned.

"The U.S. Government is tired of wasting money on secret weapons meant to kill you and wants you to be their personal errand boy instead," Bruce explained.

Clark blinked a few times. "What?"

"Amanda Waller's directing the operation," Bruce growled. "They want to make you some kind of special agent."

Clark shook his head in disbelief. "That doesn't—"

"That is, _if_ you cooperate," Bruce went on. "And if you _don't _cooperate, Luthor basically gets to brainwash you and keep you as a pet."

"_What?_"

"But that's not even the best part. Because now that it's been revealed to the world that you and I are sleeping together, they've decided that _I'm_ the best person for job of keeping you in line."

Clark froze. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"No."

He smiled anyway, which just made Bruce look even more pissed off by comparison. "Well," Clark said, folding his arms over his chest. "It _is_ kind of funny."

"They were going to pick Lois for this job until Luthor got wind of yesterday's tabloids."

Suddenly it didn't seem funny anymore. Clark looked away. "So Luthor's been working with Waller to capture me."

Batman nodded. "To capture and enslave you. Please don't say you're surprised."

Clark rocked a little on the balls of his feet, and Bruce was struck by the fleeting impression that _gravity_ was still something of a novelty to him.

"And they were going to drag Lois into it."

Bruce nodded again. "They thought she was their best bet for controlling you."

Clark shook his head again. "And then Luthor heard some ridiculous rumor and changed his whole plan? I don't believe it."

"_I _believe it," Bruce declared. "For one thing, Lois is a civilian. Tag _her_ for something like this and they risk angering you. I may be a _regular human_ but I'm still wearing a cape. Capture _me _and lock me up to baby-sit you and it's no harm, no foul. And for another thing, consider what the rumor was _about_. Luthor thinks he knows everything there is to know about _the man of steel_. And then suddenly this story goes around and it's something he never knew about you. I can see how he'd jump into action. If the _Joker_ heard the rumor and bought it, I wouldn't be surprised if he killed himself."

Clark looked up, worried. A heartbeat or two passed in tense silence. "Do you think he…did?" Clark asked awkwardly.

"If he heard it I'm sure he got a good laugh out of it. But he'd never believe it. He's convinced that I'm in love with _him_."

"Creepy," Clark deemed.

"_Luthor's_ obsession with _you_ is creepier," Bruce pointed out. "I'm going to meet with him in about three hours. And I'm going to keep him away from you."

Clark frowned, suspicious. "How are you going to do that?"

"We have only one small fact working in our favor right now," Bruce confided.

"And that is…?"

Impossibly, Bruce's frown etched itself a little deeper into the sides of his face. "The rumor," he growled. "Luthor _doesn't know if it's true_."

He left that statement ominously suspended in the air, a raised blade poised to fall and slice open the heart of their situation. But, maddeningly, Clark missed its significance. He looked down, blinked worriedly at Bruce's boots. Looked back up. "I don't follow. How does that help us?"

Bruce squeezed his fists so hard that his wrists made little popping noises. "_Grrrh!_ I can't _do_ this!" he said through clenched teeth. He jabbed a finger at Clark's chest. "_You_ are impossible." He reached into one of his gloves, pressed a button on the remote he'd swiped from Waller. Then he pulled back his mask.

"What are you doing?" Clark asked, alarmed. "They'll see who you—"

"Waller already knows who I am," Bruce cut him off. "And for the next few minutes, Luthor doesn't have access to the surveillance system in here." He pulled out the remote, tossed it to Clark. Clark caught it. "Actually, neither does anyone else."

"Wow," Clark couldn't help but say, as he realized what he held in his hands. He looked up at Bruce, grinning in admiration. This was Batman in top form. "Looks like you have a plan."

"The plan _was_to keep Luthor guessing, keep him curious about how much influence I have over you. But since I just had to _explain_ that, I know it's not going to work. So we're going to go with the oldest trick in the book." He tugged his cape off, held it up like a spill of black paint from his fist. "The hallways aren't lined with red sun lamps."

Clark nodded, understanding and agreeing immediately. He reached for the neckline of his uniform, untucked his cape from the seams that held it in place.

They traded.

to be continued!

* * *

_A/N: I hope I didn't confuse anyone too badly with this chapter! Just let me know if you have questions. Amanda Waller is such an awesome character. I love that they made it so she knows Batman's identity in the JL cartoon. And I love the recurring idea of the government conscripting Clark. However, I hated the recent story arc in the Superman/Batman comic book where Waller captured Bats. So... Will Lex fall for the oldest trick in the book?? Stay tuned to find out!! XD_


	7. Kryptonian language

Chapter Seven: Kryptonian language

"When you see him, _glare_. Remember, _you're_ the dangerous one."

Clark nodded.

"But don't intimidate him. Acknowledge that _he's_ in charge. Make him feel powerful. Get him talking."

"Ok," Clark said. Bruce bristled.

"And don't say '_ok_'."

Clark mimicked his impatient growl. "_Whatever_."

"…That's better," Bruce allowed, grudgingly. The sound of his own voice coming from the cowl he wasn't wearing had almost surprised him. He'd known that Clark could do that, but had assumed that it had something to do with his super powers. Perhaps the voice wasn't as perfect as it would have been away from the red lamps, but it was still pretty close.

Bruce finally got his borrowed red cape fixed in place, and flung it back over his shoulder. It was a far more dramatic gesture than he'd intended, and the cape obliged by settling behind him in imperially perfect folds. Clark couldn't help but grin. He felt like a complete imposter dressed up as Batman. But Bruce, he had to admit, made an excellent Superman.

Bruce caught his smile and scowled. "What?"

"Nothing," Clark said. Then he cleared his throat a little. "You look _super_," he growled, using Bruce's voice.

Bruce wasn't amused. "I _thought_ you understood your situation here. Your job is to get away from this light, get your strength back, and escape. If you give yourself away before you're bulletproof…"

Clark sighed. "I know. Don't worry. A few minutes of yellow light and I'll be back for you and then we'll get out of here."

"_No_," Bruce said firmly. "You are _not_ going to risk coming back to this room. You get yourself clear and contact the League. Somebody else can come pick me up later if I can't get out on my own."

Clark frowned. "I can't believe you think I'd leave you here."

"I think you'll do _what I tell you_."

That wasn't an attitude that Clark knew how to respond to. Silence settled between them. Finally Clark looked away. Angry.

Bruce drew air into his lungs, deep and slow. He was glad that Clark was upset. The anger would help him pull off the act.

And suddenly, that occurred to Clark. "Wait a minute," he said, looking Bruce in the eyes. "You're trying to make me mad on purpose."

Bruce let out the breath he'd taken. "Yes," he admitted.

Clark put his hands on his hips, clearly on the verge of lecture mode, but Bruce stopped him. "Don't _do _that," he snarled. "_Batman_ doesn't stand like that. If you need to do something with your hands, you ball them into fists and _bolt_ them to your sides. Got it?"

Slowly, Clark followed the recommendation. He even hunched his shoulders a bit. "_Got it_," he echoed, using Batman's voice.

Bruce nodded in approval.

They turned the camera back on and assumed their roles. Bruce sat on the floor, sometimes cross-legged, sometimes with his elbows on his knees, always keeping his face shadowed, while Clark paced around the room, studying the lights on the walls, glaring at the lights on the ceiling, and often just glaring at 'Superman' in frustration. When they spoke to each other, Clark asked a single gruff question, and Bruce provided a quiet, muttered answer and kept his palm pressed to his forehead.

Finally Clark ran out of things to study. He stood in the middle of the cell, fists at his sides. And then, purposefully, he stalked over and sat down next to Bruce.

"_Don't get too friendly_," Bruce muttered to him, in Kryptonese. "_You're supposed to be _me."

"_Obviously_," Clark replied in the alien language, carefully using Bruce's voice. "_But this is exactly what you'd do. You'd stake out a spot where you had the best view of the door, and then you'd verify my condition_."

"_Just what _is _your condition?"_ Bruce asked, as if he'd been meaning to ask for a while.

"_Tired_," Clark replied. "_and so of course the next thing you'd do is advise me to get some sleep while you stayed up to brood and scheme_."

"_I'm not going to_ _sleep_." Bruce almost sounded offended.

"_I would_," Clark told him, and switched back to English. "Try and get some rest," he instructed. "I need you to be sharp for whatever happens next."

"What about you?" Bruce mumbled in concern.

Clark glared straight ahead, and spoke through clenched teeth. "You're no good to me _exhausted_," he said, not answering the question.

Bruce had to admit, Clark was pulling off an impressively convincing Batman. He could only hope that his own impersonation of Superman was half as good.

Deciding that a tired Superman would concede to an unsociable Batman at that point, Bruce stretched his legs out in front of him on the floor and prepared to pretend to sleep. Remembering how Clark had been sitting when he'd first seen him via the surveillance camera, Bruce pulled his cape around his arms and then folded his arms over his chest, turning the cape into as much of a blanket as possible. He let his head tip forward and closed his eyes, but not before sneaking a sideways glance at Clark.

He was pretty sure that Clark wasn't looking directly at him, but he was equally sure that the tiny nod of Clark's chin meant that he approved of Bruce's 'getting some sleep' pose. Bruce let his eyes fall shut, and got to work on slowing his breathing.

Bruce hadn't gotten any sleep the previous night, but the night before that, thanks to Clark and the situation that had indirectly caused their current predicament, he'd gotten double his usual four hours. And he usually didn't start physically _feeling_ tired until he'd been awake for at least forty-eight hours anyway-- and he was still five or six hours away from that mark, so there should have been no possibility of him actually drifting off. And yet, miraculously, as he sat there counting his heartbeats, he began to get drowsy.

It was unbelievable. He couldn't understand it. Maybe it had something to do with the red lights. But no, that didn't make sense. Red lights usually just made him impatient. They reminded him of police cars, of danger and violence and rage—things that he thrived on, that justified his existence—but not things that made him sleepy.

Nothing about the cube-shaped cell reminded him of his dark, silent bedroom with its vaulted ceilings, his down comforter, his cool pillowcase. Alfred at the door, asking if he needed anything else. All the little parts of the routine, of the pattern, that had to be in place before he could even _accept_ the thought of sleeping. His mind reached farther back, to Alfred's voice again, reading to him. Poetry. It was all so far away. Those years of nights when all he could do was lay in the dark and cry, helpless and angry and too young to _do _anything except grieve.

Clark had never had nights like those. Bruce had been to the Kent farm, had slept on the pullout sofa in the living room, had been kept awake by the owls and frogs and crickets. He wondered what could keep _Clark_ awake. Why was it that every so often, Clark spent the night on the Watchtower? A metropolitan newspaper reporter had no business racking out in the Justice League headquarters, no matter how bad a day he'd had at the office. And Kal-El the last son of Krypton had his Fortress to sleep in, if _humanity_ was burdening his consciousness. Bruce had slept there once too. He'd liked it. It was…quiet. Safe.

Abruptly, awareness of his environment returned. His eyes cracked open and he was amazed to realize that he must have dozed off. Clark had gotten up without his knowledge, and was standing near the middle of the room, a solid black barrier between Bruce and the door.

For a moment, he forgot that Clark was the one who needed to be protected. The mere fact that he was there, standing by, was incredibly reassuring. Bruce closed his eyes again. It seemed right, now, that he could sleep a little bit. He was actually _comfortable_. He liked the resilient feel of the 'S' shield pressed against his chest, his arms crossed over it. Clark's costume was snug and stretchy in all the right ways. No wonder the man wore it under his civilian clothes everyday. It felt _good_, not merely _necessary_ like Batman's outfit. Even Clark's stupid boots were comfortable. They were more like the ninja _tabi_ that Robin liked to wear. Perfect if you were light on your feet. Perfect if you were weightless…

* * *

The cell door beeped, jolting Bruce out of a dream that he would never admit had been about flying.

Clark looked over his shoulder as the door slid open. "This is it," he growled. "I'm going to talk to Luthor like I told you."

"Be careful," Bruce said, barely having to fake his sincerity.

Clark scowled at him. "Don't _try anything_ while I'm gone. If they come for you, cooperate. Understand?" He stepped into the antechamber beyond the door, turning to look at Bruce as the door slid shut.

Bruce nodded, eyes unconcealed.

Clark returned the nod, and the door closed. The lock engaged, and Clark stood there, the darkness sinking in. This was it. He was alone. Bruce was still just a few feet away but he might as well have been on the other side of the universe. Clark _had_ to pull this off.

Suddenly the little room he was standing in began to move—_down_. It was an elevator! Adrenaline made his heart pound and he was suddenly conscious of his confinement. He wasn't claustrophobic. He wasn't. But Bruce hadn't said anything about an elevator. And now he was going the wrong way. Down, into the dark. Away from the sun. _Batman wouldn't care_, he reminded himself. _This would suit_ _Batman just fine_. He clenched his hands into fists, and the panic subsided.

He was ready for anything.

When the elevator finally stopped, and the door hissed open, the concrete-walled cell awaiting him did not surprise him. He kept his expression neutral, and took time to survey the room. There was a camera mounted high in one corner, protected by a Plexiglas bubble. And there were lights, aggravatingly fluorescent. They'd help him regain a little of his strength, but it wouldn't be much.

"Don't be shy, Batman. Come in." Luthor's voice, from a speaker on the ceiling. Clark glared at the camera as he stalked into the room. The elevator door closed behind him. "You'll have to forgive me for not meeting with you in person," Lex told him through the speaker. "The thing is, I just don't _trust_ you."

"The feeling's mutual," Clark growled, sounding dangerously amused.

"You left quite a _dent_ in the bulletproof door of the vehicle that brought you here," Luthor said, his tone matching Clark's. "And given how hell-bent you seemed on escaping, I was surprised when Waller told me how quickly you decided to cooperate."

Clark thought fast, and suddenly what Bruce had said made some sort of sense. _Keep him guessing_. Clark narrowed his eyes. "We both know why I did," he rumbled.

"Of course," Luthor purred. "But why don't you tell me anyway."

Clark smirked under the cowl. "Maybe _Waller_ is just that good of a recruiter."

"She told you our _intentions?_"

Clark had too much momentum, he couldn't hold back. He took a risk. "Nobody wants an alien _god_ running around _unchecked_, Luthor."

Luthor fell quiet. "You're baiting me, aren't you?" he mused at last. "I thought you'd have more _tact_."

Clark knew he had to recover fast. He adjusted his frown and his voice to seem annoyed. "Waller told me what you need. _I'm_ the only one who can do the job."

"So I'm to believe you volunteered to be Superman's keeper out of some sense of _duty?_" He sounded slightly sarcastic, so Clark infused his voice with gravity.

"_Yes_." The word fell with such finality that Luthor seemed at a loss. Clark glared into the camera for all he was worth. "Handling him will be _my_ responsibility, no one else's. I can gain his compliance. And I can do it without breaking him."

"Ah," Luthor said, sounding pleased with himself. "I _thought_ you might have an issue with that part of the process. And that's why you're down _here_. Out of the way." He chuckled a little, unmistakably excited. The sound made Clark's skin crawl. "_Don't worry_," Luthor laughed through the speaker. "You'll get the chance to clean him up afterwards."

Luthor chuckled some more, Clark grit his teeth, and the speaker abruptly cut out. "_Luthor!_" Clark half-shouted, knowing that he wouldn't be heard.

Clark had to think. He turned his back to the camera and crossed his arms over his chest, Bat-mannerisms be damned. Most likely, this would work out in their favor. Luthor didn't seem to suspect that they'd traded costumes. And Bruce wasn't vulnerable to Kryptonite. Red sun lamps didn't sap his strength. He'd overpower Luthor and escape. Right?

Clark's eyes tore around the room. There had to be something he could do. He went back to the elevator door—there was no button, no control panel. He tried to pry the door open with his fingers. When that failed, he gave it the solidest kick he could manage. It didn't open the door, but it did make a wonderfully loud noise, which made him feel a little better. He kicked it again, and then concluded that it was time for a different approach.

There was a bed along one of the walls. Clark tipped it up onto its end and leaned it against the camera. Thus assured of privacy, he pulled off his cowl and gloves, and then took off the top half of his costume. He stretched out his arms, turned his determined face to the sickly fluorescent bulbs. It wasn't sunlight, but it was something.

He just hoped it would be enough.

* * *

Clark had only been gone for about ten minutes when the door to the red sun lamp cell beeped again. Bruce was still sitting on the floor, his back against the wall and his knees drawn up, his elbows resting on his thighs. His interlaced fingers shielded his face, but he peeked beneath them to watch as the door opened.

_Luthor. _Bruce hadn't been expecting that. He stayed put, motionless, his brain churning through the possibilities. What had happened to Clark? Bruce was fairly certain that he hadn't had enough time yet to regain his strength. Had their switch been found out? No. Luthor wouldn't risk facing Batman one-on-one. He'd come to visit Superman. And he had come alone.

The door slid shut at Luthor's heels and Bruce was immediately on the defensive. If Clark had spoken with Luthor at all, obviously he hadn't had much luck stalling for time. Bruce picked a strategy. He would pretend to be Superman for as long as he could, hopefully distracting Luthor long enough for Clark, wherever he was, to absorb the light that he needed.

"_Hello, Superman_." His tone was a little too fond, his voice too soft. It made Bruce feel vaguely ill. He didn't respond.

Luthor walked towards him, each step almost theatrically deliberate. Bruce repressed the urge to jump up and incapacitate him with one blow. Superman wouldn't attack him like that. Not yet.

Luthor stopped, clasped his hands behind his back, narrowed his eyes. "I've been watching you for the past two hours," he said. "And I noticed something interesting. It seems that _Batman_ speaks your Kryptonian language."

Internally, Bruce smirked. He'd initiated that part of his conversation with Clark earlier half-hoping that Luthor would pick up on that fact. In role, Bruce nodded. "…He's the only human who knows how," he said glumly, keeping his voice a bit whispery.

"Fascinating. Why did you teach him, I wonder?"

"I didn't. He taught himself."

"Why?"

Bruce knew exactly how to answer that. He almost wanted to smile. "So he can talk to me," he said innocently.

Actually, Bruce had learned Kryptonese because it pissed him off when Kal-El and his cousin Kara had conversations that he couldn't understand, especially when he _knew_ that those conversations were about him (and included excessive giggling). But Luthor didn't need to know that. The idea that Batman and Superman had a special language all to themselves was just too _irresistible_.

Luthor's lip twitched a bit. "Your _batfriend _really cares for you," he said in that sickeningly soft tone.

Bruce nearly rolled his eyes. This would be too easy. "I know," he said solemnly.

"And do you know why you're here?" Luthor asked, as if talking to a toddler.

"Yes," Bruce answered, sighing. "The government wants to conscript me."

"Very _good_," Luthor said, amused. "But do you know why _Batman's_ here?"

It had all the trappings of a trick question. Perhaps Luthor would try to tell him that Batman had been working with them from the start. Bruce didn't look up. How would Superman answer? Honestly, of course. "…yes," he muttered reluctantly. "You want Batman…to control me."

"_Hmf_." Luthor snickered. "_Wrong_. I want _Batman_…so that every time you defy me, I can _inject_ him with a chemical that will eat away at that beautiful _brain_ your little _Justice _club relies on so often."

Cognitively, Bruce knew he shouldn't have been surprised by anything that Luthor said. And there was no way Waller would have signed off on that scheme. Luthor was bluffing. He had to be. But Bruce still couldn't quench the disgusted anger that flared in his chest.

"…I don't believe you," he said quietly. "Amanda Waller won't let you do that to him."

"Are you sure?" Luthor asked slyly. "Because I think you'll be amazed at what she'll let me do to _you_."

Bruce let some frustration show through his voice. "Luthor, you have to realize that hurting me and hurting Batman isn't going to help you. You can't make me work for you that way."

"I disagree. But that isn't my _goal_."

Bruce was starting to fantasize about breaking both of Lex's arms. And maybe both of his legs. In several places. _Keep him talking_, Bruce ordered himself. _Buy time for Clark_. "What _is _your goal?" he forced himself to ask, although he really couldn't have cared less.

"I'll show the world," Lex whispered. "I'll show them what you are. You will admit _my_ superiority. _Waller_ wants your loyalty. But _my _goal is merely your _submission_ to _me_."

Bruce's patience was at an end. He was reasonably convinced by now that the purpose of Luthor's visit was to verbally and possibly physically assault Superman. He didn't know what kind of weapons Luthor might've brought with him, but neither did he care. If Luthor thought that Superman was just going to sit there and take the abuse, he was in for a shock.

In the space of a blink, Bruce tackled him.

They did one somersault, a tumble of red cape and black suit and white silk tie, and then Bruce was on his feet, holding Luthor up in front of him with one hand around the back of his neck and the other holding one of his arms twisted behind his back. Bruce took advantage of the wall that was right in front of them, and shoved Luthor face-first against it.

"I'll destroy you," Luthor promised, his voice chillingly calm. "Before I'm done with you you'll _beg-_-" Bruce bounced Luthor's face off the wall, breaking his nose. The blood suddenly pouring down his face did the trick of shutting him up.

Before Luthor knew what had happened, his captor had taken that white silk tie off his neck and used it to tie both his hands together behind his back. Bruce leaned against his prisoner, pinning him to the wall, and searched his clothes for weapons. He found two custom-made guns, and flung them to the far corner of the room in disgust. Last of all he found a Kryptonite-bladed dagger. He unsheathed it with his teeth, threw it at the camera.

It embedded itself in the lens.

And then suddenly, all the red lights went out, plunging the cell into darkness. Bruce forced Luthor to the floor and crouched beside him, driving one knee into his back to hold him down. Luthor was breathing loudly through his mouth. "Batman's been training you," he concluded, speaking in gasps. "It's --_obvious_. He must have anticipated a --situation where you'd have to defend yourself-- without your powers-- Clever of him."

"I've learned a lot from Batman," Bruce said straightforwardly, still pressing his knee into the back of Luthor's ribs.

Luthor chuckled, insidious. "I believe you have. And just imagine… what you could learn from _me_."

For the first time, Bruce genuinely felt a little bit sorry for Lex.

"Luthor," he said, quietly taken aback. "You don't understand."

Luthor grit his bloodied teeth, his lips curling against the metal floor. "_I understand perfectly_," he seethed. "The _two of you_—what you _are_ to each other--You think I don't _see_ it plain as day?"

Bruce shook his head, and managed to put just a little bit of pity into his voice. "You _can't _understand it, Lex. Because you don't have anything like it. And you never will."

"What are you mumbling about?" Lex demanded. "You think you have something _special_, something that _I _can't have? What is it? What is it about your hero that you love so much?"

Bruce dropped the act. It was as if the darkness itself spoke as he answered, somber and absolute: "…he's my friend."

As if on cue, the entire room shuddered, and then the ceiling was ripped right off. Early daylight poured in, and Bruce squinted over his shoulder just in time to see Clark, still dressed as Batman, tossing the entire ceiling ensemble away.

He looked back down, and discovered that Luthor had seen the same thing that he had. Annoyed, he pressed his fingers to the side of Luthor's neck, swiftly and humanely rendering him unconscious.

Then he stood up, and turned to glare at the now-hovering 'Batman.' Bruce squared his feet, felt a little bit of wind flag his red cape, and was about to put his fists on his hips when he caught himself and clamped his arms to his sides instead.

"You didn't do what I said," he accused.

"I did what I thought you'd _do_," Clark replied, smiling. "I found the room's power supply and took it out."

Bruce nodded. "Good job."

"Thanks."

Clark was smiling way too much. "What's so funny?" Bruce growled.

"Just_ so you could talk to me_, eh??" Clark asked. Laughing, he reached down.

Bruce reached up.

And Clark pulled him into the sky.

* * *

When Luthor came to, his mind was already running at its highest gear. Superman and Batman—he knew their secret now. He _knew_.

He tried to sit up, but found himself restrained. He was strapped to a gurney, being wheeled down a hallway. Waller was walking next to him.

"Amanda," he said, his voice cold. "What is this?"

"Welcome back," Waller said dryly. "We're going to have a doctor take a look at your nose. And, by the way, you're under arrest. For the murder of six men in Gotham City."

"You can't be serious," Luthor murmured.

Her eyes flashed. "The murder charge is the least of your worries, Lex. Because I'm holding you _personally_ responsible for Superman's escape. You _ruined_ the best chance we had for garnering his cooperation."

"It wasn't me," Luthor snarled. "It was _Batman! _The two of them—they've been together all along! Right under our noses! The both of them!"

Waller frowned at him in antipathy. "If this is about how they're supposedly _gay_, I don't want to hear it."

"_Gay?_" Luthor exclaimed. Instantly furious, he struggled against the restraints for a second, and then gave up. "_Gay?_" he repeated, and burst into sinister laughter. "Oh, they're so much _more_ than gay, Waller. So much _worse_. And they've hidden it from us all this time. We've been so blind! But now I _know_."

They wheeled him out to the ambulance. Hoisted him inside.

"--All the _clues—_the _language!_ They thought they could fool us—but now I know their secret! And I'll take them down! I'll _kill_—"

The ambulance door slammed on his ranting.

Waller just shook her head.

...to be concluded!

* * *

_Author's notes: Got a couple of comments/clarifications here for those of you who might be curious:_

_1. In the S:TAS episode "Knight Time," Robin asks Superman how he imitates Batman's voice, and his answer is "precise muscle control." I don't think that's a super power. Feel free to disagree._

_2. The language they spoke on Krypton used to be called Kryptonian, but lately in the Superman comic books they've been calling it Kryptonese. And in Superman/Batman (currently my favorite comic book, of course) Batman really did learn how to speak it when Kara (Supergirl) came to earth. He was seriously that paranoid about Clark and Kara talking behind his back! XD_

_3. I haven't read a Robin comic book in a while but in the comics of the early-to-mid nineties, Tim Drake ran around in two-toed ninja tabi. Batman, of course, stuck to regular boots._

_Okay I think that's it. This chapter went through two major rewrites (originally poor Bruce got beaten up) but I'm finally happy with it. I hope you liked it too! Now there's only one chapter to go. Thanks everybody for sticking with this story and I can't thank you enough for all the awesome reviews. I love you guys!!_


	8. What friends are for

Chapter Eight: What friends are for

When Amanda Waller finally made it home that night, after a very long day cleaning up the mess that Luthor made, the remote control she'd misplaced earlier was waiting for her on her kitchen counter. There was a note attached to it:

_Thanks. _

_-B._

Patiently, she took off her shoes and her earrings, made herself a cup of herbal tea, changed into her pajamas, and settled down to review the footage from the camera in Superman's cell. She did not know how her prisoners had escaped. But she intended to find out.

There was the man of steel, unconscious in his cell when they'd first brought him in from the van. Waller narrowed her eyes, looking at the details. Details like the prominent wound on his forehead, over his left eyebrow, which probably had a lot to do with the reason he pressed his hand to his head in pain as soon as he woke up.

Waller paused the video and brought up the footage of Batman waking up in the interrogation room. She fast forwarded through her conversation with him, smirking to herself as she watched the remote that she'd placed on the table disappear.

Back to Superman now. Batman entering the room. Batman turning his back to the camera. Talking… expressing frustration… and then suddenly the camera cut out.

Waller paused it on the first frame when the camera turned back on. Her eyes went first to Batman. What had he done in those five unrecorded minutes? What had he _planned?_ He seemed as arrogant and menacing and sure of himself as ever, undoubtedly in control of his situation despite the red-caped burden he had to deal with.

After a moment of carefully studying the image, Waller had to admit that Batman's dark form offered her no clues. So she turned her attention to Superman: sitting on the floor, his shoulders slumped, one hand pressed to his head, covering that wound.

_Covering that…_

Wait a minute.

Waller tried to zoom in on Superman's face. The image just wasn't clear enough to tell for sure, especially with the red lighting. Sipping her tea, she fast-forwarded through the next two hours of footage, her eyes never leaving Superman's face.

Not once did she glimpse the abrasion on his forehead. Whenever the left side of his face was exposed to the camera, his hand was covering the area where the wound had been. When he appeared to drift off to sleep for a little while, the camera could only see the right side of his face—and even that was shadowed, making it impossible to see any real details.

Waller couldn't help but chuckle to herself. Those two hours of film were what Luthor had watched, before he'd decided to take matters into his own hands and ruin everything. And in those two hours, not once did it seem like "Superman" was hiding his face from the camera… but now Waller was sure that was exactly what he'd been doing.

The video was still fast-forwarding, and shortly after "Batman" exited, Luthor entered. Frowning, Waller played the tape at normal speed, turning up the volume to hear their conversation.

What she heard from Luthor cemented her opinion of him as an fixated, depraved criminal. But what she heard from "Superman"…

_"…Amanda Waller won't let you do that to him."_

She knew it was part of the act, just stalling for time…

But still, she didn't want to admit how much those words meant to her, coming from _him_. He had no reason to place any kind of faith in her character. She supposed that on the one hand, he had nothing to lose by _not_ doing so, since she knew his secret. But she was the one who had not only investigated him and found him out, she had authorized Luthor to capture him. And she had been serious about using him in her biggest, most important project.

She knew he believed in Superman. She would've bet money that he had a precautionary arsenal of Kryptonite stashed away _just in case_, but in his heart, he believed in him. And now it seemed possible that he also believed in _her_.

And that was an honor she would not betray.

She got to the end of the video. In the split second before "Superman" threw Luthor's dagger into the camera, she pressed pause.

For just a few frames, after artfully keeping his face shadowed all that time, Bruce Wayne was looking directly into the camera. There were bruises along his cheek bones, but there definitely _wasn't_ a dark wound on his forehead. Right there, right at the end, was the only time that his identity was obvious.

Waller studied his face for a long time.

And then she smiled, and deleted the video from existence.

* * *

When Clark Kent finally made it to the office the following morning, Lois Lane was perched on his desk waiting for him. Perched, like a vulture, waiting to swoop down upon Clark Kent's carcass.

Nothing made him sweat quite as much as that woman's glare.

"Oh, hello, Lois," he attempted.

"_No_," she said, uncrossing her legs and lowering herself off his desk with a move that he almost could've sworn he saw once –accidentally– in an erotic movie. "Not 'hello, Lois'. _Goodbye_, Lois. Because if you don't tell me the truth _right now_, I'm demanding a transfer to the Daily Planet's geological survey site in Antarctica."

Clark gulped, and timidly raised a finger to bring up a point. "Um, Lois, I don't think we _have_ a geological—"

Lois pulled a rolled-up newspaper from behind her back, and smacked it against her palm with a sound that sent puppies everywhere scrambling for cover. Clark only just barely managed to hold his ground. "Do I _look_ like I care about that right now?" she demanded.

"Ah, no, I guess you don't," Clark answered, fumbling to loosen the tie that suddenly seemed to be choking him. She was moving towards him, and in that moment he knew that no amount of super-speed would help him escape her.

"You have a _lot_ of explaining to do," Lois threatened him. She unrolled the newspaper, holding it up with both hands and shoving it in Clark's face.

It was that morning's edition of the _Gotham Gazette_, featuring a front page photo of Superman and Batman standing next to each other, with the huge headline: SECRET REVEALED.

That was all he saw before Lois snatched it away and rolled it up again, tucking it under her arm. "This _story?_ About our mutual—" she made quote marks in the air "—_'friend?'_ –I would like to know, _Clark Kent_, what made you think you had the _right_-- why you even thought for _one second_ that you could get away with it— did you honestly think I _wouldn't find out?_"

Stunned, mouth hanging open, Clark wondered what she was talking about. The article, he immediately assumed, was about Batman. Maybe Luthor had recognized him—had figured out that they'd traded costumes and that Bruce Wayne was Batman—but that didn't even remotely explain why Lois was so mad at him. But wait—she'd said it was about Lois and Clark's mutual 'friend'—was she really talking about Batman? What if she meant Superman? What if it was _his_ secret that was revealed? He couldn't imagine how, but judging by how angry Lois was, he couldn't rule it out. Maybe it was time to come clean after all.

Yes. It was time. Suddenly he was sure of it. It had to be now.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Lois, I'm sorry," he said.

"You _better_ be sorry!" she exclaimed.

"I should have told you ages ago," he said.

"You should have told me right away! Of all the sneaky, conniving, _selfish_ things to do—"

Now Clark was hurt. "I—I never meant it like that, Lois, I was trying to look out for you," he explained. She opened her mouth to retort but he shook his head and cupped his hands around her face, startling her into silence by the unexpected intimacy. "I knew you'd find out eventually," he said, softer.

"Of course I'd _find out_ eventually," she said defiantly, regaining her composure. "_Finding things out_ is my job. But when I saw this story, and I _found out_ that _you_ are super-"

Her voice hitched, and something trembled in her eyes, and she almost said it. Clark was _right there_, penitent, accepting her anger, wanting so badly to kiss her—but that was just for an instant, and Lois shook her face free of his hands, and pressed on—

"..._super_-_determined_ to _scoop_ me at every opportunity, even with _this story_, which _ought_ to be mine!" She unfolded the paper again, stabbed at it with her finger. "Luthor claims that _Batman_ is Superman's _brother_ from Krypton and _Perry_ gives the story to _you_?? I'm supposed to believe that? No—you must have gone _slithering_ in there and begged him to be assigned to this story, just so you could show me up!" she took a breath, surveyed the damaged.

Clark searched her eyes.

"Well?" Lois demanded. "Am I right?"

Needing a minute to process what had just happened, Clark reached for the paper in her hand. And in the saddest motion anyone had ever seen, he pushed his glasses up on his nose, and bent his head to skim the article.

Apparently Lex was claiming to have done "extensive research" on the relationship between Superman and Batman, and had turned up "exclusive proof" that they were both from Krypton, and based on yadda yadda yadda, he had reached the irrefutable conclusion that they were closely related and probably full-blooded brothers, if not twins.

Clark shook his head, put down the newspaper, and looked back up at Lois, who was still waiting for his answer.

He sighed. "Lois, you're right," he said. "This ought to be your story, not mine. I don't know why Perry assigned it to me, but I'll go tell him that I don't want it."

Lois bit her lip. He was impossible. Impossible. He was never going to tell her. He was never going to change. He was always going to be Clark Kent. Just Clark Kent, who adored her, respected her, who supported her whether she deserved it or not.

She just couldn't take it anymore.

She threw her arms around his neck. Kissed him for all she was worth.

She'd kissed Clark now and then, over the years, usually when quickly thanking him for doing something sweet, and at other times with a little sigh and a roll of her eyes that meant she was kissing him since it was her duty as his official 'date' for the evening and nothing else.

But she'd never kissed him like this. Like he was everything she needed in the universe. She may have tried, several times, to kiss _Superman_ like that, but somehow it was better with Clark.

"I love you," she said, when she finally had to stop and breathe.

"I love you too," Clark replied. Nothing had ever seemed so perfect.

They looked at each other, blue eyes to violet, each of them _almost _certain that the other _knew_.

Silently, he pleaded with her to tell him what she needed him to do. She nodded a little, encouraging him to just _ask_.

"…We could go up to…" Clark offered, and Lois's face lit up.

"The roof!" she exclaimed, at the same moment that Clark said, "get a coffee."

They looked at each other and both turned red. Everybody knew that Lois and Superman occasionally made out on the roof of the Daily Planet.

"The roof's fine," Clark said right away, at the exact same time that Lois said, "Coffee'd be good."

Lois rolled her eyes, and pressed a finger to Clark's lips. "Coffee. On the roof," she directed.

It was an interesting elevator ride, and by far the best coffee on the roof that either of them had ever had.

* * *

That night, with a whole new perspective on his relationship with Lois, Clark could not get to sleep. He was in his Watchtower dorm room again, laying on his back with one arm behind his head, looking out the window at the stars. He'd given up tossing and turning an hour ago, and had decided to let his thought process run its course.

He loved Lois. More than anything, he loved her. There wasn't a star out there that he wouldn't fly through for her if she needed him to. He blinked, and his eyes only opened halfway before closing again. He would do anything… nothing was impossible…now that he knew that she…

"Did you tell her?"

The voice came out of nowhere, and three things happened at once: the light turned on, Clark half-flew out of bed --getting his feet tangled in the covers and crashing to the floor with enough force to make the furniture jump—and it became evident that Batman was standing in the middle of the room.

Clark untangled himself and stood up, heart pounding. "Batman—you—Bruce, you scared me. I can't believe you snuck up on me. Wh… how did you _do_ that?" he asked.

For a brief moment, Batman smiled. It was more like a smirk, pulled to one side, drawn there by a swift, sharp brush. Clark knew right away he wasn't going to get an answer. He took a deep breath and heaped his scattered covers back onto the bed. "Anyway, _no,_ I didn't tell her. But I almost did. And I think she probably already knows."

"You still need to say it," Bruce said. "Trust me, it's what she wants."

Clark sat down on the bed. "It's what _I_ want too," he said, and looked out the window again. "It's just _meant to be_, Bruce. It's a miracle but at the same time I know it couldn't be any other way. She's—"

"You love her," Bruce summarized.

"I love her," Clark echoed, and turned to look up at his visitor. And then the strangest expression crossed his face. "So… uh, what are you doing here?"

"Hopefully starting another rumor."

Clark blinked at him, perturbed. "okay…" he said carefully.

"That was a joke," Bruce grumbled.

"Oh," Clark said, relaxing. "You know, you're not very good at that."

"So I've been told. I learned from Alfred."

"Hmm. That would explain it," Clark agreed, sympathetic.

"I'm actually here because I was talking to Diana."

"Good! I heard she rejoined the League."

"Yes, she came back."

There was more happiness and relief in that simple statement than Clark had heard in Bruce's voice in long time. He grinned. "See? I told you she would. And she doesn't want to kill you, does she?"

"…That's debatable," Bruce growled. "…But now that I've talked to her, I think I'm in a _good mood_."

Clark's eyebrows rose. "That may be the scariest thing you've ever said."

Batman smiled again, a little less smirky this time. "Anyway, I have something for you." He held out a box.

Clark looked at it, suspicious. "…will I need lead-lined gloves to open that?"

"No," Bruce replied.

Clark reached out and took the box, and as he opened it, Bruce explained:

"…while I was sitting in that red sun-lamp cell, I found myself wondering what Superman does when he can't fall asleep. I know that you spend the night up here once in a while, and it occurred to me that you probably do that to get away from all the noise on earth."

Clark lifted the present out of the box. It was a softball-sized replica of the Daily Planet's famous globe, cut in half longitudinally, the words "Daily Planet" arcing across it, cut out from a metal band. The globe itself was made of thick frosted glass, and overall it was fairly heavy-duty and definitely high-quality. And, turning it over, Clark discovered that it was attached to some sort of light bulb, which was meant to be plugged into the wall.

The present was, without a doubt, a nightlight.

Clark looked up at Bruce, his forehead wrinkled in concern. "…Do you know what this is?" he asked solemnly. Bruce looked annoyed. "This is _cute_," Clark said, holding it up. "And now I'm officially worried about you."

"Just plug it in," Bruce growled, hunching his shoulders.

Clark leaned over and plugged it into the wall next to his bed. The globe lit up with a comforting sunset-orange glow.

And immediately the earth fell silent.

Clark jumped and looked up at Bruce, but alarm turned to amazement as he began to understand. The sounds in the farthest corners of the Watchtower were growing fainter, fading to silence. In another minute, he wouldn't be able to hear much of anything outside of his own room.

"Red sun-lamp," he realized, genuinely impressed. It was such a practical solution—he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before. "Bruce, it's awesome—thank you."

"That reminds me." Bruce shifted. "I never thanked _you_, for turning the light on for me that night. I needed that sleep."

"No problem," Clark said. "That's what friends are for."

"_Friends?_" Bruce asked, scowling. And then, probably setting some kind of personal record, he smiled for a third time. "I'd thought we'd moved past _friends_."

"Oh right, apparently we're brothers now," Clark noted.

"Twins, is what I heard."

Clark shook his head. "I guess it's lucky that we _do_ look sort of alike. I still can't believe Luthor didn't recognize you."

"He never even looked at my face," Bruce recounted. "His eyes were glued to the 'S' on my chest the entire time. I just hope they don't lock him up in _Arkham_, when his insanity plea goes through."

As Clark mulled over that unpleasant possibility, Bruce turned towards the door. "Well. I should get back to Gotham. Don't forget what I told you, about taking Lois out to dinner."

"And don't _you_ forget to have a little optimism about Diana," Clark reminded him.

"Hn." Bruce flipped the light off in Clark's room, stepped into the hall, and spoke over his shoulder.

"…Goodnight, Clark."

Clark smiled and said "Goodnight."

And once the door was closed, he rolled over and closed his eyes, and had absolutely no trouble falling asleep.

The end!

* * *

_A/N: It's over! I can't believe it! I have to say, it was really, really hard to end this on a satisfying note. Should it have been funnier? Fluffier? Should it have been some heavy discussion on the Superman/Batman friendship?? I wrote a scene with Diana but chickened out of including it. (whimper... don't hate me, BMWW fans!) Bruce/Diana just isn't my thing! Lois/Clark totally is, though, so I hope I got that part right.  
_

_Thanks everybody for sticking with this story and leaving such wonderful reviews. If this story made you laugh or made you say "aww!", then I have done what I set out to do. And I couldn't have had more fun doing it. Grin.  
_


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